


Capital Five FM

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Series: Not Part of the Plan [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Castiel POV, Disguise, Gas-N-Sip, Hiding, Long-Distance, M/M, Pining, Radio, Refugees, Separation, Wartime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 07:12:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 40,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1889730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has successfully made it out of the conflict zone, evading authorities and reuniting with his sister. As he recovers in the relative peace and quiet of Anna's new home, he contemplates what to do next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content warning:** Past/off-screen starvation.

Castiel’s current waking up routine involves dragging himself out of bed, almost tripping over the clothes he’d discarded on the floor the previous night, and knocking his elbows against the sink when he brushes his teeth. It is such a familiar procedure that his partial consciousness almost tricks himself into believing that he’s back in his university apartment, and he’s merely preparing for another day on the podium or in the library.

He’d barely been able to afford that apartment but he’d figured, at the time, that that was _it_ for him and he’d better lay down his roots properly or it might never happen at all. All the framed works on the walls were chosen by him, and all the books on the shelves were those he'd enjoyed enough to keep. There was only one window, which could never be opened completely, but it had an excellent view of the lake. The bed had an uneven corner, which he propped up with a folded piece of cardboard that had to be replaced every few months.

Castiel is not in his apartment.

In many ways, this cottage is better. All the windows are functional, and Anna always was better at finding good deals for furniture and household things. Castiel’s currently sleeping in the room Anna calls the study because of the writing desk and empty book shelves, though when he’d arrived she’d been using it as a storage room for the previous tenant’s things. There is one bathroom, which they share and smells perpetually of rose water.

It’s at the point when Castiel is washing his face that he remembers: ah, yes, he is not at the university. He is hundreds of miles away, in a country not his own, in a town called Rexford that he has only fleetingly started to get to know. It has been four months since he’d left the university, and over a month since he’d gone into hiding from Michael.

These facts wash over Castiel as he trims the edges of his beard with a small pair of scissors. He hasn’t been officially declared missing because the authorities have bigger things to worry about. (Personally, Castiel suspects his fleeing the scene of he crime has embarrassed everyone, Republic and royalist alike, so they'd prefer to pretend that it never happened.) Castiel has trouble moving the two small fingers on his left hand because he’d prioritized getting as much distance between himself and Ilchester over getting his wounds checked out by doctor. He is grateful for the small miracle that he found Anna as quickly as he did, after only a day of loitering around the rendezvous point she’d mentioned in her last letter.

Or was it she who found him? His memory of those few days are a little hazy now.

It is important for Castiel to think of these things, because his reflection is one he barely recognizes. This may be part of his disguise but it's almost as though he’s borrowing someone else’s skin. Add that to the whirlwind of recent times, how he’d been tossed from one hand to another with barely a chance to catch his breath, and Castiel could forget who he is if he’s not careful.

In reciting his recent history to himself, he is grounding himself.

The beard is Castiel’s idea, but the red hair is Anna’s. She’d had indigo streaks the last time he'd seen her, but now she’s gone for completely red locks. Castiel had known this from her letters, but he hadn’t expected how suitable it would look on her. And since Anna has adopted red hair as part of her new identity, it’s only fitting that her visiting brother have red hair as well.

He’d protested at first, saying that it was enough that he’d grown out his facial hair. He’d only been recognized twice during his escape from Ilchester, and both times he’d been dismissed as a look-alike, because why would a prince be wandering around back alleys unwashed and wearing ill-fitting clothes? Admittedly that was before the Council finally announced that the alliance has broken down and put the entire North-West coast under martial law, but Castiel has been very careful.

Still Anna insisted, so now when Castiel looks in the mirror it’s to a face framed with dark red hair, the bangs almost overgrown enough to cover his eyes. She’d dyed his facial hair, too, taking the challenge with aplomb. She does that.

Outside, Anna is up and making breakfast, humming under her breath as she sets the plates out. She smiles when she sees him. “’Morning, you.”

She was always the better cook between them. She’s gone local, too; her current liking for heavy breakfasts is in line with what Dean enjoyed and what Castiel saw across various diners along the highway. She chatters away as they eat, her voice as soothing as a cool lap of water.

“The trellis is looking good,” Anna says. “I’m thinking of going down to the port to pick up some seedlings, perhaps tomatoes or cucumbers. I’m not sure, I’m partial to both, really. Though I’ll have to finish up with the pump first.”

“I can help you look into that,” Castiel says.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. The pressure’s still good so it’s not a priority yet.”

Castiel looks down at his meal. “This is that toasted concoction they used to make at…”

“Yeah,” Anna says quietly. “I thought you might like it.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says, as heartfelt as he can manage. Thank you for being there, for finding him and taking him in, for not pressing for answers where others wouldn’t have bothered to be kind. “Thank you, Anna.”

“You’ve said that already,” Anna says, a little firmly. “I know you’d do the same for me.”

She is thriving here, as wonderfully as she’d described in her many letters. She has this cottage, which she’d managed to obtain after apprenticing under a metalsmith in town. It’s technically on loan but she’s free to decorate it the way she likes, resulting in a home where her hand can be seen in practically every corner. Castiel wishes he were here under better circumstances, and better capable of enjoying her hospitality.

Once they’re done with breakfast Anna washes up while Castiel packs up their lunch – one set for Anna, and one for himself. When they’re ready to go Anna locks up the cottage behind them, and they start walking down the road to the town hub.

“Nora has a delivery today,” Castiel says. “I’ll be staying late to help with the inventory.”

“Ah, that’s right. Is it still okay if I drop by for lunch?”

“Should be fine.”

This is deep into the countryside, past the sweeping cornfields and up into the highlands, where the conflict on the coast feels distant enough that it might as well be only happening in a TV serial. Rexford is officially a town but Castiel refers to it as a village in his head, mostly because the buildings are interspersed with so much greenery. It isn’t quite what he’d pictured for Anna – the peace and quiet seem at odds with her desire for activity, but no doubt there is more here than meets the eye.

It is early enough in the morning that they only see a handful of people when they reach the town center. He and Anna walk past the town hall, where their yellow flag is still up, signifying to all that the Republic is in a state of emergency and residents are to be alert and informed. The Council is still attempting damage control, so information is limited and the newscasts are vague. Castiel may not have told Anna everything about what happened after Joshua House, but she’s still learned more from him than from all the official sources put together.

Most of the townsfolk here haven’t even seen a northerner before. At least, that’s as far as they know, because Anna has been very thorough in hiding her origins, and the local accent she’s adopted is impressive. She’s tried to help Castiel take on a passable accent as well, but that hasn’t worked out so far. Castiel doesn’t mind that much, because it just means he doesn’t talk in public when he can help it.

They arrive at the only Gas-n-Sip in town soon enough. Anna kisses Castiel on the cheek and says goodbye, and then Castiel enters the convenience store where Nora, the proprietor, is opening up the blinds. She and Anna are good friends, which is how Anna got Castiel a job here with very few questions asked. Rexford is apparently sympathetic towards people who wish to get away, whatever their reasons. Possibly everyone here has a reason of their own.

“Morning, Steve,” Nora says. “Can you put the papers out before starting work on the back? Thanks.”

Castiel likes being useful. It’s better than spending all his time in Anna’s cottage, which is all he’d done the first week or so since he’d arrived. Here he has a uniform, a name tag and a cap he gets to wear with the brim down low while he works. He gets to observe the locals and learn of their ways candidly. He also gets to see the newspaper headlines while he’s heaving them up onto the display cabinet.

_Royalists Attack The Cape Point_

_Council: Curfew Still in Effect_

_Citizens Advised to Stay Beyond the Howard Line_

There are a few pictures, but Castiel doesn’t linger too long gawking. He will get his time later, either during his lunch break or after work. He backs away when the first customers of the day arrive - a pair of women who are heading down to the fields to work. They pick up coffee and a few sundry items and say hello to Nora before moving on.

Nora usually stays out front, so Castiel doesn’t mind the cashier unless she or Lila, the other staff member, is on a break. Castiel’s usual tasks involve carrying things around, or arranging things, or cleaning things up. These tasks are comforting and straightforward. Castiel has a great appreciation for things that are straightforward.

While he works, he listens to people talk as they pass through. Sometimes they talk about town gossip, sometimes about The Ilchester Conflict (that’s the official term for it) which is usually punctuated with a disbelieving, “Crazy, huh?”

These are civilians. Farmers, teachers, craftspeople and so on, plus the small flurry of schoolchildren that pass through when school is done for the day.

As far as Castiel can see their lives are only fleetingly affected by the events on the coast; their day-to-day is as it’s always been. When Castiel watches them he vacillates between being glad that they’re untouched, to envy that they’re untouched, to absurdly angry that they do not seem to understand the enormity of what is happening elsewhere in their own realm.

People are fighting. Michael’s fleet has landed. Lucifer has declared his presence, claiming to be fighting _for_ the Republic. The Republic’s noble houses have split – some standing with Ellen, others with Lucifer, others fleeing the conflict altogether. A group of hunters have gone rogue with Dean Winchester at the helm, but that is a propaganda disaster so there’s been little to no mention of him or their marriage in the news at all - not since Lucifer blew up Michael’s flagship the morning Castiel fled and everything went to hell. Various patches along the coast are changing hands as the fighting proceeds, though the Council is so tight-lipped that the public only knows which town belongs to whom until almost days after the event.

Castiel has to refill the milkshake machine for a group of children while hundreds of miles away life and death is the balance. The dissonance makes him pause often.

In the aisles behind him he hears a man tell his friend, “They should just go, man. It was a bad idea from the start, you know? There was a reason we put up the Wall in the first place.”

“No, you dumbass, _they_ put the Wall up,” his friend says with a snort. “God, don’t you know your history?”

“Oh come on,” the other says with a good-natured laugh. “Look, we split off from them ‘cause we weren’t down with obeying a King, yeah? Independent state? And we put the freaking Wall up to shut them out!”

A schoolchild chimes in just then, with all the confidence that one can have at that age, “ _They_ put the Wall up because they didn’t want to lose more islanders to the Free Will movement. One law, one King, one Wall.”

“That right?” the first man says dryly.

“We’ve been studying this the whole week at school,” the child says proudly. “Next week we’re starting on how the nobles banded together to form the Council.”

“Go on, smarty-pants. You’re Fisher’s kid, aren’t you? Git!”

“See?” his friend says smugly. “They put the Wall up.”

“Smartest thing they’ve ever done for us, then,” the first man replies. “Should’ve just kept letting us mind our own. Hey, man, I get to be pissed, my sister’s out there helping ‘em hold the line, yanno? Haven’t heard from her for days now.”

“Yeah, man, sorry.”

Castiel flips the milkshake machine switch on to the cheers of the schoolchildren around him. They clamor for their prize while Castiel drifts away, his task done, his presence incidental. It’s a welcome change that no one pays any attention to him here.

Anna drops by during Castiel’s lunch break, and they eat together in the back. She talks a little about her morning but otherwise the shared meal passes in a companionable silence, broken only with the gentle, “Eat up,” Anna says when Castiel gets distracted by his thoughts. She means it to be teasing but Castiel hears the order there – he hasn’t put back all his weight yet, but he’s working on it.

Then it’s back to his daily tasks. There’s cleaning, stacking, nodding agreeably when a patron tells Castiel he didn’t clean his windshield well enough. There’s watching the locals move through the Gas-in-Sip on the way to the rest of their lives. Castiel reminds himself that this is what’s worth fighting for, and what people hundreds of miles away _are_ fighting for.

Late into the evening, when Lila is done for the day and Nora is out taking care of her personal business, a hunter shows up at the Gas-n-Sip. Castiel initially assumes the man is a local, but then his sleeves catch the light, illuminating a shield with the symbol of a gun along the frame.

Castiel slips on his reading glasses but stays behind the cashier, watching surreptitiously as the hunter moves between the aisles picking at things.

This man isn’t built like Dean, more gangly than solid in his grey-brown jacket, but hunter ranks must be filled with various kinds of people. He is the first hunter Castiel's seen in Rexford since he’d arrived here, and he doesn't know whether to be nervous or... something else. According to Nora they used to pass here regularly on the way to the ports, but with the conflict on the coast, most of them are mobilized. The man now approaching the cashier cannot be deserter, not with his badge so prominently displayed.

“Hey, do you take post?” the hunter asks. When Castiel nods, the man takes out two letters, squinting at them with tired eyes before handing them over. “Pretty quiet ‘round here, huh?”

Castiel clears his throat. Careful to keep his voice a soft whisper to mask his accent, he says, “I think they’ve closed the Howard Line. No mail passing through.”

“Oh, it’s still open. As long as there’s a… right, a special stamp. Thanks for reminding me.” He rummages in his backpack, finding a broad stamp that he uses to mark the side of his envelopes. “There. It’s okay, I’ll pay for whatever it needs.”

Castiel takes out his reference file to check the postage rates. The hunter seems too exhausted to bother studying Castiel closely, which is good, but then his eyes widen when he notices the radio on the side counter.

“That working?” he asks. When Castiel nods, the hunter adds, “You mind if I…”

Castiel gestures for him to proceed. Nora lets the store’s radio play one of her favorite easy listening channels, only switching to a news channel whenever she feels like checking in for bulletins. The hunter fiddles with the knob now, replacing the soft music with static as he rolls through the channels. Castiel watches him curiously as he sticks the thin stamps down on the corner of the hunter's envelopes. He seems to be focusing really hard, which is unusual.

At last the man stops, though Castiel can’t hear any music. The hunter looks at his watch, tapping the face gently.

Then from the radio comes a faint voice, “ _Nineteen-hundred. One skirmish at forty seven point three at oh-two hundred when See tried to take over the Hook again, but it didn’t take. At least four wendigos in the force, plus sightings of a dragon but we’re not positive on that yet. A couple of mild injuries overall, all of ‘em sent to the Red Cross at Four-Point. A statement should be coming out early tomorrow morning. Elle has sent messages out from Campbell Court, declaring that what he’s pushing is his blood right over Em. The word is, uh, that he’s suing for the Crown and is gonna make a break for St. Lebanon. Elle’s gonna request that the Council act as a neutral third party_ —” the speaker snorts, “— _to oversee a trial over who has a stronger right for the throne_.”

Castiel has a stamp stuck on his thumb where he should have pressed it on the envelope. He hasn’t moved since the voice started talking, frozen in place by the sudden lead weight of his limbs.

That’s Dean’s voice. It wasn’t an instantaneous recognition but the longer he’d talked the stronger Castiel’s surety solidified. He would know that voice anywhere, he’s heard it too often in his sleep. Mild static wouldn’t be able to mask it, not in the least. He’s still talking, and Castiel can almost see Dean sitting right there, hunched over a microphone, hands gesticulating wildly as he tries to explain his point. He sounds a little subdued but that drawl, that turn of the syllables – that _has_ to be Dean on the radio. Castiel only understands about half of what he’s saying – Elle must be Lucifer, and Em is Michael – but this is new information.

“ _Em is fortifying the line, but has allowed supplies and letters to come through. Over thirty civilians are out past, safely on the highway heading South. The Eye-Thirty-Two is getting packed so whoever can move further out, please do, but if you can’t, don’t force yourself and don’t sweat it, okay? Remember, no one can make you move if you don’t want to, so know your rights. Go to the nearest station or admin hall, there should be a list of evacuees and how to get in contact with them. If there isn’t one, ask for it, it is mandatory that every cross point have one._ ”

“It’s not illegal,” the hunter says suddenly. Castiel jolts in surprise, and the hunter is looking at him with a sharp frown. “Just listening in isn’t illegal.”

It’s a pirate radio station, then. Dean is doing this clandestinely, because at least half of what he’s just said isn’t in any of the newspapers Castiel’s seen. People are using creatures as part of their attack forces? Lucifer is suing for the Crown? Claiming that because he’s older than Michael he has more right to be King?

“ _—it’s in, so please remember that they’re in this with us, okay? The regular Isle folk, the civilian northerners, they’re just like you and me. They didn’t know ‘bout any of this, and they’re caught up in just as much as we are. It is_ not _as simple as kicking all of ‘em out, ‘cause this is just as all tangled up with us. If I hear of any more roughing up out there and I’m gonna kick your asses personally, ya'hear?_ ”

There’s a rustle in the background, as though someone else is moving on that side of the mic. Castiel imagines Dean rolling his eyes and smirking, aware of the power of the microphone.

“ _Still gonna kick your ass_ ,” Dean mutters. _“Anyway, any hunters not on the front, you’re still on duty, y’all gotta watch out for everyone else. And if any of you regular folk_ see _a hunter, don’t tell ‘em to go to the front, ‘cause there’s still a line to watched back home. All of us have to work together if we’re gonna get through this. If you wanna help out, get in touch with your local authorities to see what’s needed – supplies, helping hands, a spare bed, all that. Don’t head out to the active areas yourself. Like I said, it’s getting pretty packed so resources are limited. If your loved ones are out there, it’s best to stay at a location they know to find you, so they can find you. There’s plenty of transport moving in and out of the hot zones._ ”

Dean speaks clearly, with emotion but not emotional. This isn't the voice he'd used for their television interviews _—_  it's lower, more casual and more intimate. It is a voice you want to hear in a crisis, of someone who seems to know what they’re doing, and is looking out for you. Dean isn’t pulling his punches, and goodness knows what he’s saying isn’t necessarily what people want to hear, but that candor is its own kind of comfort.

“ _Everyone’s worried. Everyone here wishes they didn’t have to be. You are not alone. Handyman from the front, clocking out. Good night._ ”

Castiel doesn’t realize he’s clutching his arm – the one with the damaged tattoo – until the transmission cuts out. He loosens his grip, and is relieved to see the hunter also shake himself out of his stupor, the dark of his face clearing when he remembers where he is. Castiel quickly gets on putting the stamps on his envelopes properly.

Dean is out there fighting the good fight. Yet he is also able to take time out of what is no doubt a highly stressful situation to talk to and reassure his people. Castiel cannot imagine anyone capable of forcing Dean to do this – he must have volunteered, or it was his idea in the first place.

What is Castiel doing? He’s pressing stamps and stocking shelves in a convenience store.

“Right,” the hunter says, jolting Castiel out of his thoughts. “So what was it? Plus gas?”

“The protective circle on your bag,” Castiel says quietly. “The link is chipped.”

“What? I don’t…” The hunter hauls his bag over his shoulder, squinting at it. “Huh. Wow, good eye. Phew! That could’ve gotten me in trouble. Thanks, man, you’re awesome.”

Castiel nods and turns his face away from the hunter’s scrutiny, ostensibly to put the remaining stamps back in the cabinet. “Thank you for that radio channel. I didn’t know about it.”

“Oh, it’s still a work in progress. It’s easier than you’d think to set that up, but it’s getting good range that’s the problem.” The hunter pauses, and Castiel busies himself working the cash register in tallying up his purchase items. “You got someone out there? On the front?”

Castiel nods.

“That’s tough, man. Hang in there.” The hunter hands over his money for his things, and his voice is kind when he says, “It’ll be over soon.” He doesn’t actually know that for sure. He’s just saying that to be positive. Castiel still wants to believe him.

The hunter leaves the Gas-n-Sip after filling up his truck. Castiel watches him go, writes down the frequency of the radio channel before switching back to Nora’s favorite station, and then waits for Nora to return so he can close up for the night.

Castiel manages to wait until he’s safely made the trek back to Anna’s cottage and closed the door before he pushes his left sleeve up, revealing ink and clumsy scars along his forearm. It’s funny – the first weeks after his marriage he’d barely noticed his tattoo, but now he’s studied it so well, so thoroughly. He knows all the points where his and Dean’s names intersect. He knows all the lines that are broken and half-broken. He knows well the change of texture where his fingertips move over the dark swirls to unused skin. 

In the days when he’d been on the run, taking naps where he could and hiding in abandoned buildings, whenever he’d found some privacy he'd held his arm against his chest, trailing his fingers over the ink. Its strong lettering was proof in the flesh that Dean was alive and well. A handful of times he'd snapped awake from a nightmare where the tattoo had faded, which would only happen if Dean was not of this world, and he'd fumbled blindly in the dark to open his sleeve and squint at the skin, only relaxing when he could see the old Enochian letters.

Castiel just heard Dean speak on the radio so he _knows_ that he’s alive and well, but he needed to see the tattoo anyway.

“Hey, you’re home!” Anna’s voice calls out from the kitchen. “Just a sec.”

Anna has a radio in the living area. Castiel finds it quickly, crouching in front of the piece and squinting at the tuner. When Anna comes into the room Castiel immediately says, “There’s an underground radio channel. They were broadcasting unauthorized news from the coast.”

“Oh! That’s… that’s _awesome_.” Anna lowers herself down next to him, watching avidly as he slowly turns the knob to the right frequency. “How’d you find out about it?”

“A hunter came to the store.” Castiel waves off Anna’s exclamation of surprise. “It’s fine, he didn’t recognize me. He asked to tune in to a station, and there it was.” Castiel checks his written note a few times, making sure that the frequency is correct. There’s only static now, though, so he says, “I think transmission is only at certain times of the day.”

“That make sense,” Anna says. “Perhaps they have to move as well? Wow, just thinking about the logistics of it…”

“Is it all right if we leave it like this? Just in case?”

“Sure. Or… I could get another radio? And you can keep it in your room so you can listen to it whenever you want.” Anna shushes Castiel’s automatic protest. “It’s no trouble, really.”

Castiel feels – odd. A little off-kilter, as though he’s one of those balancing objects that has just been nudged off its center of gravity. Almost every day since Naomi collected him from his university apartment, he’s been propelled forward by a goal: make it through the wedding, make it through the honeymoon, get the hell out of Chambers House, get the hell away from Michael.

He thought he’d feel some sort of relief at having gotten out, but it hasn’t come. Castiel is now unmoored, for he has no more bearings to follow, no horizon to chase. There is not even a desire to return to his apartment because… then what? Go back to teaching? Pretend that none of this is even happening? He isn’t even sure what’s the situation like in the kingdom anymore, now that communication has been so spotty and the airwaves full of news of the Ilchester Conflict and nothing else.

Castiel _is_ thankful that he made it here, to this place of quiet and relative safety that Anna has offered him, but he hasn’t been able to exhale. He doesn’t deserve to exhale.

“People are getting hurt out there,” Castiel says softly. “People are having to flee their homes because of power-hungry megalomaniacs with the uncanny ability to spot weakness.”

“Castiel,” Anna says, unnerving as always, “it’s not your fault. This is Michael and Lucifer bringing their grudge out in the open. This is the Republic’s politicians  _using_ that grudge to pursue their own ends.”

“Yes, but I—”

“If they hadn’t picked you, they would’ve picked someone else. Hell, if _I_ hadn’t left they’d probably have picked me.”

“And you would have detected what was going on immediately,” Castiel says. “You would’ve seen the cracks, you would’ve asked the right questions. You wouldn’t have gotten him caught up in this because you wouldn’t have been so stupid as to have…”

“He?” Anna echoes softly. “Is that… Are you talking about Dean Winchester?”

Castiel pushes himself off the floor, face hot and the ache in his arm flaring up with inappropriate timing. He sighs when Anna immediately follows him, shadowing him as he tries to escape to his room.

“It’s fine that you don’t tell me everything about what you went through. That’s all yours, but I am here for you in any way I can be.” Anna catches Castiel’s elbow just before he slips into his room, her grip surprisingly tight. “Was Dean... unkind to you?”

“No! _No_ ,” Castiel says quickly, looking at her in alarm. “I was angry at him but it was all – it didn’t _matter_ – they were just doing what they thought was right and I – I probably would have done the same, but… Anna, he’s out there and I can’t help. I’m useless.”

Anna exhales softly, and gently releases her grip. Castiel doesn’t close the door in her face, but he can’t meet her eyes either. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t told her everything, because it’s not as though he doesn’t trust her or fears that she would judge him. Perhaps telling her means saying it out loud, and saying it out loud would make all of it real. Even the parts that he isn't sure really happened.

“You sounded quite fond of him in your letters,” Anna says carefully.

“That’s not what’s important,” Castiel snaps. “What matters is that _I_ got him involved in this, it’s my fault that…”

He’s already said too much, and if he says any more he might never stop. He can feel it expanding like a balloon in his chest – the things he did or didn’t do, things he said or didn’t say, all the stupid decisions he’s made because he thought he knew better. Pride always did run in the family, and that pride has held Castiel’s tongue since he’d left Ilchester – not even before his sister has he been able to confess the turmoil in his head. Anna has been exceedingly patient with him. He does not know how she does it.

Anna silently opens her arms, firmly drawing him into them. Castiel doesn’t resist, burying his face in her hair.

“I wondered when you’d get here,” Anna says. “You always did prefer to keep it all up inside.”

“Shut up,” Castiel says. He shudders at the realization that he’d unintentionally imitated Dean again.

It isn’t even fair that Castiel be this upset. Dean’s made his own choices, and Castiel expects that Dean _wants_ to be in the thick of it, where he can make a difference. He’d probably even find it refreshing, as terrible as that sounds, because where his hands had been tied before by diplomacy and the lie of the marriage, he is now free to do what he needs to do. There are so many others affected by this situation, too, many of them less lucky and less resourceful Dean. Even Dean knows that, hence the radio transmission to get the word out to those who don’t have the resources he does.

“Okay,” Anna says gently. “Tomorrow we’re going to get a radio for you. Do you want to come with me to choose one?”

“Yes,” Castiel says. “And I want a map, along with any newspapers you still have. I want to be able to visualize what’s happening out there.”

Anna leans back a little, her expression contemplative. “You sure about that? You haven’t really…” She bites her lip, and Castiel knows she means to say that he’s been distant and unfocused since he’d arrived, and not all that receptive to her attempts to talk about the conflict. “You don’t have to prove anything, you know.”

“I know.”

She studies him for a long moment. “Let me show you something.”

Anna’s cottage is a single-storey building, though she has made excellent use of all the space in it. She takes him to her bedroom, where there’s a nook on one side that he hasn’t seen before. There is a narrow table there, newspapers stacked up and loose pages separated into a pile. There is also a cork board on the wall with two maps tacked to it.

One on the left is of the North-West coast, Ilchester highlighted in yellow, a handful of colored pins marking certain points. On the right is a map of the two nations, the islands of the Northern Kingdom spread out at the top, and the broad irregular shape of the continent below. The Republic itself takes up about a third of the continent, and its borders with the untamed wilderness are marked with thick black lines.

“You’re already doing it,” Castiel says. “Of course you are.”

“Just a little. Only what I can get from the papers and bulletins, but if that radio station of yours comes through it’ll be such a huge help.” There are letters on the desk as well, many of them in different handwriting. At Castiel’s questioning glance, Anna adds, “I’m keeping in contact with others like us. Other… immigrants from the Kingdom.”

“Ah, yes. I recall you mentioned you’ve met quite a few.”

“Most of them are trying to get in touch with family and friends back home. I can... I have my ways of communicating across the sea, it’s partly why I settled down here. I help that happen for others where I can.”

Castiel is not surprised. He can only laugh softly at the admission, and make a face when Anna ducks her head guiltily.

“We’re watching out for each other,” Anna says. “In case things get… difficult with the locals here. People shouldn’t be forced to decide where their loyalties are, not like this. It’s just a tricky situation overall.”

“Let me help you,” Castiel says. “I can help you.”

Anna smiles slowly. “That’ll be wonderful.”


	2. Chapter 2

As far as Castiel can tell, there is no proper system to the papers that Anna has collated in her room. There are propaganda flyers, letters, newspaper articles and magazines of all sorts cast about in a haphazard manner that is comprehensible only to Anna.

Normally, Castiel would let this be – it is _her_ collection, after all – but Anna says, “I know what _that_ look means. Go ahead, do as you will. I didn’t even mean to save so much crap, but it just kind of... built up.”

They spend some time in that nook together, Castiel tidying up the papers while Anna sorts through her letters and tells him what she’s been up to. There are many others like them all over the continent, she says, many of them having built new lives here following the taking down of the Wall. Anna (and now Castiel) are the only ones in Rexford, but she has a phone book that would put any of Castiel’s theses to shame.

“Most of them live along the coast,” Anna says, “but those who could moved inland once the fighting broke out. I check in with the control points to make sure everyone’s all right, point ‘em in the direction of safe houses where I can.”

“What about contacting those at home?” Castiel asks.

“That’s the tricky part. There are only a handful of telephone and telegraph lines still open, so you can imagine the jostling for priority. I help compile messages together by region so I can get them out as packages through the non-rush hour blocks.”

Castiel huffs under his breath. “I thought you were helping people cut queue.”

“I do that too,” Anna admits. “But only for emergencies.”

Anna’s interest in the Ilchester Conflict extends as far as the humanitarian aspect of it. She has no love for Michael or Lucifer, and doesn’t care who ends up on top. Instead her energy is used keeping track of the restricted zones as well as the open and closed roads, as far as they affect the people whose fates she does care about.

“It doesn’t matter who wins,” Anna says with a frustrated sigh. “All I want is just for them to be done with it and _leave_.”

“But it does matter for everyone back home,” Castiel replies. “We don’t know what kind of king Lucifer will be. He might be better than Michael, but he might be worse. One thing’s for sure is that it’ll definitely destabilize the kingdom all over again.”

“Has it _ever_ been stable? Even with Michael in charge?”

“He is an effective tyrant. Stability is in his best interests.”

“Then perhaps change is what the kingdom needs,” Anna says. “The Wall was made to keep Continental influence out but all it did was keep the rot in.”

“As if this Republic has no rot of its own,” Castiel says sharply. “It’s the locals who gave Lucifer his new power base. We are all affected, we are all culpable.”

Anna double-takes, eyes wide when they meet Castiel’s. She frowns, opens her mouth, and then closes it again before shaking her head. “Okay. We both obviously have strong feelings about this, so... maybe we should steer clear from discussions of blame.”

“You aren’t enjoying the argument?” Castiel asks, only partially teasing.

“I think I’ve forgotten how much distance I’ve put between myself and... home. Except it hasn’t been home for a while, has it?” Anna looks down at the letters in her hands, and Castiel notices that the one on top is from him, his calligraphy particularly distinct. “I’ve been living here so long but at the back of my mind I’ve been thinking of the kingdom as... I don’t know, a back-up, like if things didn’t work out here I could still return. But that wouldn’t work out anymore, would it?”

“You’ve found new roots,” Castiel agrees. “And the kingdom you remember isn’t the kingdom it is now.”

Anna nods slowly. “I don’t know whether to be sad or relieved.”

“Both, perhaps.” Castiel reaches over and squeezes Anna’s shoulder gently. “But you still have me.”

“You didn’t ask me for help.” Anna seems startled that she’d said that out loud, and she looks up at Castiel uncertainly. “Not that I think you _must_ have, when Michael told you to marry for his purpose. But when I started hearing news of it, I thought it must have been wrong, or it was another Castiel. I thought that if it _was_ you, you would’ve told me.”

“It happened so quickly.” It’s a poor excuse, and Castiel grimaces at hearing himself say it. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

“You can’t keep thinking like that,” Anna says. “I _want_ to worry about you, just as much as I appreciate how much you worry about me. Is that clear?”

Far from feeling sheepish, Castiel is warmed with joyful gratitude. Anna’s words are soft but her eyes are fierce, and Castiel missed this so much. _So much._ The letters were good but apparently not good enough. His sister is here, and although they are both not the same person they were when they’d parted ways, the reality is better than the memory Castiel has been carrying inside him.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says. “I should have told you. It made sense at the time not to, but the reasons feel so flimsy now. I believed I could handle it.”

“I have no doubt that you could have. But you didn’t need to handle it alone.”

“That’s true.” Castiel laughs softly when he remembers. “I did wonder how you would react to the news. I imagined that you might storm the temple on the day of the wedding.”

Anna laughs. “Not the wedding. Just _before_ the wedding. Maybe even the morning; I’d sneak into your room and whisk you away.”

“Ah, but you can’t pull the trunk trick twice.”

“Oh my god.” Anna covers her face as her shoulders shake at the childhood memory. “I can’t believe I did that to you. You could have suffocated!”

“I was small then. There was enough air.”

“It’s a miracle Zachariah was so lenient with us for escaping so often. We were terrible.”

“We had every right to be.” Castiel closes his eyes when Anna trails her fingers down his cheek. “Maybe I didn’t ask for your help because I didn’t want you to save me. I’d accepted it as a decent fate, all things considered.”

Anna hums noncommittally. “If I’d found you the morning of your wedding, would you have come with me?”

“Of course not.”

Anna sputters. “ _Of course_ not? Wow.”

“The consequences would have been far reaching.” Castiel shrugs at Anna’s amused expression. “It was bad enough that Sam fled and left his family in the lurch. I don’t blame him, whether or not he was influenced by those who wished to use the agreement ill, but there were too many ripples left behind. It cost me less to stay.”

“At the time,” Anna says carefully.

Castiel considers that for a moment, and then nods. “Yes, I suppose that’s right. Those who wanted to use the marriage to their own ends would’ve found their way no matter what Sam and I chose to do.”

“Michael never _needed_ the marriage to take place. If it happened, he’d use it, but if it didn’t, he’d use the failure as an excuse.” Anna sighs. “I still wanted to be there with you for the ceremony. If only just to _be_ there.”

“I would want you there, too, if it were real. I mean—” Castiel coughs faintly, “—if I were getting married of my own desire.”

“But hey, you beat me to the wedding aisle!” Anna laughs and smacks him lightly on his forearm, making Castiel roll his eyes. “And you said there’d never be anything in the _world_ you could do that I haven’t done first.”

“I never said that,” Castiel protests.

“Oh yes you did! As if I’d ever forget. You were thirteen and petulant, and upset that I’d traversed the Ice Horn by myself, remember? But look at you now.” Anna clucks her tongue. “Ah, you’re all grown up now.”

Castiel makes a face. “I wasn’t grown up before?”

“You do know that I still picture you as that chubby little mop-haired—”

“There’s already one conflict happening in this country, Anna,” Castiel says. “Let us not start another.”

Anna snorts. “Oh, is that how it is.”

There are too many things in Anna’s nest of papers. Castiel wants to cull it, but he can’t be sure which items are of value to Anna and which ones aren’t. There are so many papers about the burgeoning conflict, and it’s actually amusing to watch the tone of the reports change once the journalists could no longer deny that there _was_ an actual conflict.

Castiel picks up another sheaf, revealing a full-page print of his own face. After weeks of instinctually turning away from such images, Castiel consciously sets that impulse aside. He pulls the newspaper close, studying it properly.

He hasn’t seen this picture before. It’s of him and Dean at the second interview at the Ilchester camp. They’re dressed in full suits, their arms are linked, and their family banners are unfurled behind them. It takes a while before Castiel remembers to read the headline: _Exclusive Interview with the Golden Couple_. It takes a while longer for Castiel to look directly at Dean’s smiling face.

This would have been the turning point. The day following this interview was when everything fell apart, so this was the last moment when the illusion of peace and control remained in place. This was one of the last moments where the people could be kept content with fluff pieces about a couple they hadn’t known existed just a month or so earlier.

“I started collecting all this once you started showing up in papers,” Anna says. “You don’t have to look at that, if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“It does,” Castiel admits. “I don’t know who that is. I don’t see me in that person.”

“Because that isn’t you.”

“I know.” That isn’t him, just as that isn’t Dean – only a tiny segment of who they really are is visible through the paint-over. Weeks onwards, and Castiel is still off-balance by the various ways he was wrong.

Castiel should say something else, but he can’t. It’s all unimportant now, anyway. Anna’s already gone back to sorting through her letters and crumpling up some of the irrelevant ones. Castiel takes the paper with his and Dean’s faces on it and slides it under the pile, only to be greeted with a magazine spread with pictures of his and Dean’s wedding reception.

A quick check confirms that the rest of the stack contains more of such things. Castiel takes a deep breath, decides that desensitization is the best way to go, and dives in.

* * *

Anna’s aid-giving activities rely on the relationships she’s built. Castiel can’t get involved directly since he doesn’t have access to Anna’s cache of trust, but he can collate and organize and assist. Anna is acting as a conduit arranging safe passage for people and messages, and that involves keeping track of multiple threads and juggling transient schedules. Over the next week Castiel wakes up extra early and eschews his free time in the late evenings to join Anna at her two-way radio, helping transcribe messages and make decisions. On one occasion he provides an alibi for Anna at work when she has to make a day trip down to the port, receiving and passing on a package for one of her friends.

Also taking place over the next week is Castiel’s confirmation of Dean’s radio station. During Castiel’s evening shift at the Gas-n-Sip he tunes in with Nora’s radio, making sure that the broadcast transmits every day at the same time. Each broadcast is less than half an hour, but just like that first one, Dean makes good use of the time, delivering facts, speculation and advice as quickly and succinctly as he can.

Castiel can’t always listen to the entire transmission, because the store does have its customers and he doesn’t know dangerous it might be to be open about such a subversive broadcast. Still, he catches enough of Dean’s show to know that the fighting has hit something of a standstill, for Lucifer is trying a new tactic of calling for a ceasefire and shaming Michael into standing down. This news means that Anna can open more lines of communication for those wishing to send messages across the border, which is good.

Following Dean’s show becomes easier when Anna obtains a secondhand Walkman for Castiel. The reception isn’t as good as Nora and Anna’s standing radios, but it has a recording mechanism, which means that Castiel can prop the Walkman up behind the counter where the reception is best, record the entire broadcast, and listen to it later on playback. Castiel even puts his employee discount to good use by purchasing blank cassette tapes for this purpose.

Anna, on the other hand, is suspicious about the broadcast. She listens to it while Castiel is at work, and discusses it with him afterward, but mostly she’s hung up on the fact that it exists at all. Although she’s able to confirm that some of the reported facts are true, surely such a channel would have been shut down ages ago?

The next Tuesday Castiel has the evening off, so he joins Anna listening in to the night’s broadcast. It’s their first time listening together, and in preparation they’ve made a pair of hot drinks and set up camp on Anna’s couch, both of them with their notepads out as they wait for the transmission to begin.

“I just don’t get it,” Anna says. “Underground stations are one thing. They’re a staple, sure, to bring up morale and share rock music, but this isn’t just morale. This is… well, it’s treason.”

“I suspect they don’t view treason here the way they do at home,” Castiel says. “And the Council has quite a number of other priorities at the moment. I doubt they’d have time to investigate and shut down one operation.” Especially when the local Houses are splintering every which way, and the Council barely able to hold on for unified decisions.

“They don’t need to shut it down, they just need to restrict the range. And we’re going to have to disagree about priorities. If I were Harvelle, and some smart-ass was undermining me to the whole nation, this would be a priority.”

“Is he undermining her?” Castiel asks. “He hasn’t spoken of… oh, here we go.”

The radio speakers crackle, and both of them turn towards it expectantly. The transmission always starts the same way – there’s a beep, a faint rustling noise, and then the first words of the broadcast.

As always, Castiel’s breath catches at the sound of Dean’s voice. Tonight he opens with, “ _We’re in, we’re good, hey y’all_.” There’s that familiar low drawl, his voice warm but a little hoarse – it will get smoother the more he talks – and Castiel swears he can feel a phantom touch on his skin as though Dean is literally there, his fingers curling loosely around Castiel’s wrist before pulling him along.

It’s just a voice on a radio, but in a way Castiel has invited Dean into this space, this home. It feels right.

“ _So we’ve got a slow night for y’all today, which has its ups and not-so-ups. On the up – the ceasefire is official, and is in effect for three days starting from noon today. Em is all a-go and word is that Elle is calling for a sit-down. Our glorious Speaker has indeed called the Council to vote, but unfortch they couldn’t get a quorum today so there’s gonna be a second sitting, no word on when yet. On the not-so-up – eyes in the sky have confirmed Em’s second fleet coming in from the North. Official word is that they’re there to mind the borders, but c’mon, we all know they’re reinforcements, right? Don’t quote me, I’m just a dude with a mic._ ”

Anna hisses low through her teeth. New ships mean more troops, meaning that the fighting may drag on further or Michael is trying to take more towns for himself. Lucifer will not sit for that, but it’s hard to say what kind of resources he has for a counter-move.

 _“—and a convoy with Bee’s badges spotted gathering along the EA, we don’t know what that’s about but so far everyone’s playing nice and kept their fists under their butts for the past eight hours. My personal advice is to remember that this ceasefire is not permanent. Take advantage of it while you can, but any long-distance actions or movements need to take into account that anyone on any of the sides can break it at any moment. It should be easier to get access to_ —”

There are still quite a few terms Dean’s using that Castiel doesn’t understand, so he jots those down to ask Anna later. Anna is writing more furiously than Castiel though. Her brow is furrowed and she’s biting her bottom lip. If there’s an official ceasefire there will be more people wanting to pass through, likely some would even hope to return home, though that won’t be possible if Michael is keeping a naval blockade.

Castiel is glad that Dean continues to sound calm and steady. He isn’t as loud as he normally is, but it isn’t like this is a casual conversation. This is a different kind of performance that requires a very different kind of honest. Although there is frustration and sarcasm to be found in his words, there is nothing defeatist there. Dean is doing this because he’s still hopeful, and he wants to share that with others.

“ _—I’m just saying, this kind of thing can bring out the best and the worst in all of us. I know people are saying that when the chips are down that’s when we show our true colors, and maybe that’s true, but that’s not the_ whole _truth, you know? When someone, anyone, feels that they’ve been pushed into a corner, they’re not gonna be thinking straight. They’re gonna lash out. People are already getting hurt so it’s not really helping anyone to put more hurt on top of the hurt that’s already there. We got three days – okay, two and three quarter days – to sort through the rubble, so take this chance to reach out to each other. Things can still change on a dime._ ”

There he is. If Dean were here, Castiel would point out that he doesn’t always take his own advice. Dean would roll his eyes and mumble something rude, and Castiel would chide him, and Dean would take the chiding in good-natured stride. Castiel hopes that Dean’s getting that, wherever he is. Dean is obviously doing better than he was before – his being able to do a radio broadcast means he has friends who support and trust him. Castiel is glad, and relieved.

“ _I’m luckier than most. I know that and I’m grateful. But like everyone everywhere I have unfinished business that I know I might never get the chance to wrap up. There’s apologies I owe, favors I need to repay. From where I’m standing, it doesn’t matter anymore what’s gone down in the past. Like I said, when you get pushed into a corner your choices may turn out to be mistakes but only in hindsight, and I don’t give a rootin’ tootin’ about hindsight_.”

Castiel starts in surprise. Dean’s talking about Sam. He’s asking Sam to return to him.

“ _Hey, I warned ya it was a slow news night! But seriously, make the most of this breather, but don’t assume that just ‘cause we’ve got a ceasefire it’s okay to start traveling back to the coast. The Howard Line’s still closed, the hot spots still shut in. Communication should be slightly better, but don’t take my word for it, we’ll only know what’s what at daylight tomorrow. Tonight, I’m going to have me some beer, and you are welcome to join me. This is me, your friendly neighborhood Handyman, signing off._ ”

There’s a beep of the transmission ending, and then static. Anna turns the radio off, and Castiel belatedly remembers to reach over to the windowsill for his Walkman, clicking the stop button.

“That was different,” Anna says.

“Lucifer is stalling,” Castiel says. “He knows that Michael would never allow the Council to arbitrate the situation, because that would mean Michael would have to submit to an authority other than himself.”

“But it’s dangerous for Lucifer to stall, because Michael can just call for more reinforcements.”

Castiel nods thoughtfully. “Lucifer might have some more subtle plan. Not to mention we still don’t know what’s happening in the islands. I believe Raphael is an effective Regent while Michael’s away, but I do wonder if everyone there really is united in support of Michael’s cause. Lucifer must have some followers. Spies, at least.”

“It’s too bad this guy—” Anna gestures at the radio, “—this _Handyman_ doesn’t have any feelers across the border. He could bust that wide open.”

Castiel frowns at Anna’s tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, he does talk about some pretty high-level stuff. Like he knows that the Council met up? Even if he’s a hunter like you think he is, it still doesn’t explain how he can know some of the things he talks about. Sure, they have enough eyes to track Michael and Lucifer’s movements, but he’s talking about communications and splits between the Houses. There’s no way he can have any idea what’s happening there unless he has a line in.”

“He’s resourceful,” Castiel says. “Perhaps he’s a… very senior hunter.”

“Or he’s a mouthpiece,” Anna says. “I‘m just saying, we should take this with a grain of salt.”

“Are suggesting that the Council is allowing this broadcast to happen?”

“I don’t know.” Anna shrugs. “They do like spreading their misinformation, but this doesn’t seem like their M.O.”

Castiel can’t imagine Dean being used for something like that. Not after his own experiences, not with the gift of anonymity that’s built into this new platform. “This information is too specific and too critical to be propaganda.”

“ _You’re_ not critical, though.” Anna cocks her head a little, as though this has just now occurred to her. “You’re almost taking it wholesale.”

“No, I’m not,” Castiel says defensively.

“What were you writing?” Anna leans over, while Castiel clambers quickly to cover his notebook. “Come on.” She grabs the edge of his notebook and turns it towards her.

“It’s nothing important.” Castiel doesn’t fidget, because to fidget would be to invite more questions. It’s enough that Anna’s eyebrows lift in surprise and then drop in bemusement – there’s a few talking points on the left side on the page, but on the right there’s a little pen sketch of a standing radio.

“That’s not my radio,” Anna says.

“It’s not meant to be.” Castiel pulls the notebook back to himself. “I draw when I’m thinking, you know this.”

“Mmm,” Anna says neutrally. “Oh, I need to make a phone call.”

“Please proceed.” Castiel waits until Anna leaves the room before he looks down at his sketch.

He had only been sketching distractedly, but along the way the rectangular image had taken the form of the radio Dean restored in Joshua House, with its curved frame and line of knobs near the bottom. That’s the radio Dean used in his attempts to educate Castiel about music. The same radio accompanied them during those lazy afternoons reading and writing letters.

Castiel tells himself it’s normal to look back on such times with fondness. He isn’t idealizing the memory – he remembers how awkward it had been, how claustrophobic. They hadn’t been able to be fully honest with each other at the time, and Castiel wouldn’t want to go back to that, no matter how wonderful the good parts had been.

Suppressing another sigh, Castiel collects his Walkman and starts rewinding the cassette.

* * *

The ceasefire actually lasts the whole three days, and then Ellen manages to open indirect talks between the royal brothers. Anna is as surprised as Castiel, and then nobody is surprised at all when one of Michael’s demands is that the Council assist him in capturing Lucifer, failing which the King will pursue his brother by force. Castiel briefly considers the possibility that Michael and Lucifer are working together – Michael practically has an excuse for a full-on invasion – but that is dismissed upon remembering that Michael is too self-righteous to ask his brother for help in _anything_.

The regular newspapers and radio stations report that the Council has managed to open talks between the King and his exiled brother, but they neglect to mention what Dean does not: i.e. Michael’s dismissal of the Council’s initial terms, and the way two members of the Council itself have declared that Michael’s actions are insane and that they will stand with Lucifer to expel him from the Republic. Lucifer makes no statement either way.

During this time, Anna is productive and Castiel is helpful. They help other people send messages, enable the transfer of otherwise locked funds from across the sea, and on one memorable occasion sneak one of Anna’s friends through Rexford on their way northward in search of a loved one. (Anna’s friend, Hael, recognizes Castiel despite his new appearance, but promises to keep his presence a secret.) Castiel even gets to send a letter of his own to Balthazar, assuring him that he is fine. There is no guarantee that the letter will reach its destination, but it is worth a try.

Through it all, Castiel still performs his day job at the Gas-n-Sip, and still keeps his appointment with Dean’s nightly broadcasts. It’s not long at all until Castiel has enough recorded material to fill a whole series of cassettes that he keeps safely stowed away among his few items in Anna’s guest room.

* * *

With the conflict still not settled after so long, it’s no surprise when the country-wide rationing system is kicked up a notch. Castiel comes in to work early the day after the announcement, joining Nora in reorganizing and retagging the perishables on the control item list.

“It’s not too bad yet,” Nora tells him. “We’re still outside zone three so we aren’t affected as much. You have your list?”

Castiel nods. After carefully checking off the location of the various items, he looks up at Nora hopefully.

“Yes,” Nora says with a soft laugh, “you can listen to your music while you work.”

Castiel tips his cap in acknowledgement before heading off into the aisles of the store. There’s not there much work to do overall, so he can take his time and start in the cereal and biscuits section. Once he’s there, Castiel carefully places his headphones over his cap and ears, presses the ‘play’ button on the Walkman clipped to his belt, and picks up his inventory list to begin.

“ _Yeah, we’re in,_ ” comes Dean’s voice through the spongey headphones,“ _so here’s the skinny, fasten your seatbelts. Elle has finally come in with a list of polite requests, for a given value of polite, though you can be the judge of that yourself_ —”

Castiel knows that he is a terrible person. Nora thinks he’s listening to music whenever he’s doing tasks that don’t require human interaction, and Castiel feels no desire to correct her.

“— _it’s the royal suit part two: the quickening, except there’s some musical chairs action going on in here. Elle is suing for the original will of his and Em’s dearly departed royal daddy, claiming that there was no mention in said will for Elle’s being cut out of the line of succession. The argument is that even though he was banished, there’s nothing actually legally keeping him from taking the throne. I’m sure you’re wondering – wait a minute, even if Elle is out of the line of succession, isn’t Em still older than him? See kids, this is where it gets delicious, are you sitting down? I hope you are, well in today’s episode of the soap opera, Elle is claiming that Em was born out of wedlock, and the old king never ratified the Act that legalizes Em’s position as the heir—_ ”

The truth is that Castiel is abusing his employee discount by purchasing batteries by the handful so he can use his Walkman whenever he likes. At the start of it Castiel told himself that it’s only by repeatedly listening to these recordings that he will be able to catch the various details and perform proper fact-checking, but the lie is half-hearted.

Every night Dean takes to the airwaves to talk about important, sensitive things that are affecting people all over the country. And what is Castiel doing? He is selfishly cleaving the context away from the broadcasts so that he may bask in the calming lull that is Dean’s voice.

Yes, Castiel is awful. Worse still is how he likes to rewind certain segments, such as one from a few nights ago when Dean was reading out a list of Michael’s terms and his tongue tripped on the words (“— _justified by the righteousness of the crown and its holy impreta- imperta- imperative! I swear I speaking good, wait, no that’s not part of the—_ ”) before bursting out laughing at himself. Goosebumps had risen along Castiel’s arms at the sound. 

Right now Castiel is putting stickers on cereal boxes and checking their price tags, but with this soundtrack playing in his ears he can almost imagine Dean standing right behind him, talking endlessly about something or the other, hitting dozens of references Castiel doesn’t know and then casually mentioning something ridiculous to check if Castiel is paying attention.

But the Dean Castiel is listening to isn’t talking about his personal stories or jokes. This material is from last night’s broadcast, and he’s talking about a very serious situation that could change their lives in irreversible ways. Lucifer’s new tactic of attacking with legality has taken Michael by surprise, and a surprised Michael is a Michael who could lash out unpredictably. Some of the things Dean says Lucifer is claiming are interesting and potentially volatile, and Castiel already has a mental list of things he’ll try to look up in the Rexford library later, hopefully making use of his brand new library card.

But Castiel’s already listened to this show twice. Once with Anna, after which they’d discussed the potential ramifications, and once more before he went to sleep last night. He doesn’t _need_ to listen to it again, any more than he needs to listen to his slowly growing collection of tapes.

Castiel knows that he’s treating each broadcast with more reverence than is necessary, but he can’t help it. He is in a transitory state, a guest in his sister’s house, homeless and holding his breath. Everything that’s been part of his existence before his arrival at Rexford has been forcibly left behind – even Castiel’s current reflection isn’t his own. It is natural to want to hoard something for himself.

Castiel has Anna to see him for who he is, and he has Dean’s voice to remind him of things he’s lived and done. Sure, Castiel could look at the old newspapers and magazines in Anna’s stash with his and Dean’s faces all over them, but this is… less tainted. If Castiel lies in bed and listens to the recordings with his eyes closed, it’s almost as though Dean’s talking to him, and only him. Castiel enjoys the illusion for what it is.

There’s also the matter of how the broadcasts may stop at any moment. Castiel may never see Dean again, so each show could be the last he’ll ever hear of Dean.

By the time Castiel has finished moving down the shelves, he’s switched to another cassette of an earlier broadcast. The sound is slightly different, with a subtle echo that makes Castiel suspect that Dean’s recording studio is mobile.

Right now he’s saying, “ _Silver is usually your best bet, but not all silver is made equal, even if it looks freakin’ shiny. They come in grades, so if you have a safety lock, or household items you’d like to convert into weaponry, it’s a good idea to get ‘em checked by an expert._ ”

Castiel’s only shame is that he cannot be as helpful as he should be. If he could see the intercepted materials himself, he could provide better context for Lucifer and Michael’s actions. Of course, for all Castiel knows Dean already has insiders in his camp helping him, but Castiel would be _better_. He would tell him that Lucifer must have access to his father’s will already, which means that Lucifer has spies in Michael’s court and is working to undermine him from within. For starters.

A glance at the clock confirms that it’s almost time to open up for the day. Castiel stops the Walkman’s playback and is just starting to walk back to Nora’s desk when his left arm erupts in pain.

There’s a clatter where Castiel drops his clipboard.

The pain is a sudden sharp throb that sets his teeth on edge, the magical backlash jolting up and locking the muscles of his arm. Castiel swerves wildly in the aisle, his shoulder checking the nearest shelf dangerously before he manages to plant his feet firmly on the ground. The tin cans on the shelf rattle ominously behind him.

His left arm means the marriage tattoo. Castiel grabs at his sleeve, hissing when his fingers brush the tender skin in pulling down the cloth to his elbow. Castiel blinks rapidly, willing the white spots in his vision to go away, damn you.

The dark lines of the tattoo is mostly still there, but where they had been continuous they’re now broken by a clear rectangle of non-inked skin, about the size of a business card, on the outside of his forearm. The skin is red, slightly raised, and prominently clear of ink.

“Oh,” Castiel says. Something’s happened to Dean. Torture? Do people torture other people by removing their marriage tattoo? No, Castiel’s not thinking straight, a third party cannot perform the unbinding unless the married person wants it. A simple injury to the arm cannot wipe a full section of the tattoo away as though it never existed.

Castiel touches the patch experimentally, hissing at the rawness of the skin. The rectangle is too neat to be accidental, so it follows that it must have been on purpose.

Dean is erasing the tattoo.

If Castiel stares, perhaps he can see which section of the tattoo is going to disappear next. His chest feels hollow and his throat dry, but that’s his problem. Dean can do whatever he wants. It’s his body, his life. Castiel is just a bystander.

There’s a rustle just behind Castiel. “Steve, what happened?”

Castiel jumps. He pulls his sleeve up but he’s still too slow – Nora’s eyes follow the movement, just catching the edge of the tattoo before it disappears, and her mouth falls open.

“Oh,” Nora says quietly. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

Castiel shakes his head rapidly. He can’t seem to button up his cuff, so he gives up and fumbles for his fallen clipboard and pen.

“Steve, it’s okay.” Nora takes the clipboard from him. Her face is kind, too kind. “Go home, take the day off. Lila will be around soon, I can take it from here.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Castiel hisses. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Steve.” Nora touches his shoulder, and Castiel remembers that she’s a lovely person and his boss, and it would not do to rudely shove her away. “Let’s go.”

Nora gently but firmly steers him out from between the shelves. Castiel goes along mostly because he hasn’t decided what to do next, beyond clutching his forearm and waiting for the next burst of pain that doesn’t come.

Castiel eventually realizes that Nora has steered him to the counter, nudged him onto a stool, and pressed a newly-dispensed milkshake between his hands. Cherry-flavored, because she has noticed that he likes to take the cherry milkshake during his breaks.

“I can manage the store without you,” Nora says. “If you need to go—”

“I have nowhere else to be but here,” Castiel says. “If he wants to break the… then that’s none of my business.”

Castiel isn’t looking directly at Nora, but he thinks that she’s frowning at him. She says, “Of course it’s your business, half of that marriage is yours.”

Nora’s wrong, of course. The marriage isn’t just his and Dean’s, for it also belongs to their countries, and to the people that arranged for it to happen. It isn’t even necessary anymore, for the world’s moved on in unpredictable and dangerous ways. It would actually make more sense for the marriage tattoo to be broken completely, because it is now obsolete. Castiel doesn’t know why he didn’t think of it first.

“It’s not real,” Castiel says. As soon as he says it there’s a flash of disorientation to the time he’d said exactly the same thing at Dean, who’d snapped back: _This isn’t real? The words we said weren’t real?_ Castiel clears his throat and corrects himself: “I mean, it didn’t start right. We didn’t get married for the right reasons, so it’s… it was always going to end one day.”

“Why?” Nora asks.

Castiel looks up at Nora, who is leaning against the counter and watching him. Her gaze is level and patient, and makes Castiel feel inexplicably like a child when he is a grown man who is trying his best not to feel upset that Dean has done something he should have done weeks – months – ago.

“It’s complicated,” Castiel says.

“Did you two part badly?” Nora asks.

Now _that_ question has Castiel’s mind careening back to their last kiss – Dean half-leaning outside the car, the way he hadn’t resisted when Castiel pulled him in, the solemn acceptance in Dean’s eyes when he’d drawn away afterward. But that was weeks ago, and so much has changed since then. Dean’s probably forgotten what he said then, too. Which is fine, because Castiel can remember enough for the both of them. What did Dean even _mean_?

“You still care for him, then,” Nora says quietly.

“It doesn’t matter,” Castiel says. “It was wrong for us to get married. We were forced to by our families.”

“Just because something doesn’t start out good, that doesn’t mean you can’t make something good out of it down the line.” Nora smiles gently. “Anna must have told you, but I never wanted this life for Tanya. I thought I had everything figured out, only I didn’t, and I had to learn the hard way… and my daughter didn’t get the best she could have. I will always look back on certain parts of my life with regret, but along the way I made it something good.”

“That’s different,” Castiel says. “You’re brave and selfless.”

Nora laughs softly. “No, not really. I suppose from the outside it might look like that but trust me, it’s not. Mostly it’s second-guessing and frustration and hating yourself… and finding it in yourself to keep pressing on anyway.”

Castiel glances down at his milkshake cup, which now has condensation dripping down its sides. He might as well takes a drink, because it would be waste. As he does, it occurs to him that there’s been no more change in his arm, no new flash of pain. He flexes his left hand experimentally.

“It’s stopped,” Castiel says.

“Maybe he doesn’t want to break the tattoo,” Nora suggests.

“That doesn’t make sense. It was a very clean removal, and that doesn’t happen by accident. Unless…” Castiel tries to imagine it from Dean’s side, after weeks of no contact and perhaps an acceptance that there might never be contact ever again. “Unless he’s trying to get my approval.”

Nora starts. “Your approval?”

“He could be notifying me that he wants a full divorce,” Castiel says. “And he’s now waiting for my response. If I agree, I will remove another patch myself, and he will know to proceed.”

“But he doesn’t need your permission, does he? If he wanted to he could just remove the whole thing in one go.”

The more Castiel thinks about it, the more it makes sense. It’s easy enough to understand Dean’s discomfort with the binding, but no matter his own feelings he would hesitate to remove the tattoo entirely on his initiative, if only out of respect of the friendship they’d had. “D—He sometimes feels guilty about pursuing what he really wants. He hesitates.”

“What do _you_ want?” Nora asks.

Castiel makes a face.

“It’s a legitimate question,” Nora says. “What do you want?”

“I want all of this to stop,” Castiel says. “I want the fighting to end, I want everyone to be able to go home and see their loved ones without restriction.” He wants Michael and Lucifer to stop being selfish children. He wants Anna to be able to return to the country of her birth, and to be free to explore it without fear of reprimand.

“That’s what you want for everyone,” Nora says. “Which is nice. But what do you want for yourself?”

Castiel wants to shave this stupid beard off and cut his hair with it. He wants to return to his apartment and salvage whatever is left behind. He wants to see Dean again.

“I want to see him again,” Castiel says. “I would like to be sure about… some things.”

“There you go.”

“But I can’t. Not now.”

“That’s true, but one day.” Nora cocks her head hopefully, as though it is truly as simple as that. “It’s not _impossible_ to see him again one day?”

“Yes, it’s possible,” Castiel admits grudgingly. “But I don’t know if he wants to see me.”

“How about you don’t worry about what he wants, since you can’t know for sure either way. Instead, perhaps you should think about what _you_ want, and hold on to that. It’s something to look forward to, and goodness knows a lot of us need that right now.”

Castiel can’t think of anything to say to that, so he takes the straw of his milkshake into his mouth and takes another long sip. Nora rolls her eyes at him, but she pats his shoulder before moving back behind the counter to resume her work. Castiel doesn’t need a day off. There are things to do, and they need someone to do them. The Walkman on Castiel’s belt feels heavier than it had been five minutes ago.

Maybe Dean really has forgotten him. Well, not him as a _person_ , because Dean’s memory shouldn’t be so faulty as to erase someone he’d known quite recently, but perhaps Dean’s forgotten all the… other things. Maybe Dean’s ready and wanting to move on, and he can’t do that if he’s still married. Castiel doesn’t want to begrudge him that.

Except, Castiel kind of does. Assuming he’s guessed Dean’s intentions correctly, then if Dean wants to be done with it, then he can just… be done with it. He can go to a cleric and perform a full unbinding, and it would be easy, like cutting an already-frayed thread. Dean doesn’t need Castiel to sign off on his wanting to be free.

Castiel takes comfort from the tattoo, for it is living evidence that Dean is alive and well. He can make do without it, but given the choice he would rather not. He knows that this is a skewed view of the tattoo – it represents more than just a long-distance check-in on a man whose thoughts are obscured to him.

Dean can erase the binding entirely if he wants. Castiel will be fine if that’s what he does, but he won’t erase it for him.

“Take the day off,” Nora says, her voice pulling Castiel out of his thoughts. “Don’t make me chase you out.”

Castiel tries to glare at her, but it’s half-hearted. “All right.” He can go to the library.

* * *

A few hours later Castiel is elbows deep in microfilm of old Republic newspapers when he remembers that there is another broadcast soon. Of the many nights that Castiel’s been following it, Dean’s only missed one transmission, during which he was replaced by an unfamiliar woman’s voice who assured listeners that the Handyman was fine but caught up in a little somethin’.

There’s been nary a peep from the tattoo since the first cut early this morning. Castiel’s checked on it every hour or so, and it’s remained unchanged from this morning. The little patch of cleared skin is still a little pink but it’s no longer swollen, so Castiel can poke at it curiously. It’s like someone pressed a stamp against his arm, except instead of putting something on top it’s taken something away.

Castiel has had a few hours to get used to the idea of losing the entire tattoo. It would almost be like it never happened, save the scars left where Castiel cut through the skin. Castiel thinks said scars will be enough to remember the entire episode – because that’s what it is, an episode. He was married for a while, and then he (if Dean goes through with it) stopped being married. He’s barely married now as it is.

He thinks he would be fine if he could just see Dean and hear it from his own lips that this is what he wants. That would be good closure. It is the not knowing that is the most frustrating, really.

Castiel misses Dean a great deal. There, he’s admitted it. He misses Dean, and he hopes that Dean doesn’t miss him back this same way, because it sucks. That’s the bright side of Dean wanting to break the binding completely, of course – Castiel may not have the tattoo anymore, but he will know for sure that Dean is free of this awful, most aggravating _yearning._ It is not fun.

Nora asked if they’d parted badly. Castiel hadn’t known whether to answer in the affirmative or no. He and Dean hadn’t been in an entirely antagonistic place when they’d separated – Castiel’s anger had evaporated, while Dean was sympathetic and let Castiel go of his own free will. And no matter which way Castiel looks back on that moment, he can’t figure any reason for Dean to have lied. It would’ve accomplished nothing, it would’ve benefited no one.

That chapter of their lives may have passed but it still feels incomplete – and Castiel feels incomplete along with it.

As the time ticks on by and Castiel finally leaves the library for Anna’s cottage, he realizes that he doesn’t know whether he’s looking forward to or dreading tonight’s broadcast. He wants to know that Dean’s all right, but there might also be confirmation of other… things.

Don’t be stupid, Castiel tells himself. He _wants_ confirmation. He _wants_ to be sure, because then he will know where he stands.

Anna is surprised when Castiel arrives, pointing out the obvious with a suspicious, “You’re early.”

“Yes,” Castiel says. “Nora let me out early for good behavior.”

“Nice.”

An early dinner is in order. They prepare the meal together, during which Castiel tells Anna about what he’d managed to obtain from the library. Anna is fascinated, then contemplates getting a wire over to Balthazar to ask which way the wind’s blowing in the homeland. Castiel is so carried along by Anna’s speculation that he only belatedly notices that it’s time for the broadcast, and he had better set up his Walkman if he’s to record it properly.

Anna turns her standing radio to the dining area, and then gestures for Castiel to sit down quickly next to her. “Come on, this should be a good one!”

Just as Castiel takes his seat, the speakers crackle there’s a beep through the speakers. Then: “ _And it’s evening, so we’re in.”_

Dean’s all right. He’s active and lucid. This is good. Castiel exhales quietly, the sound luckily swallowed up by Dean’s monologue confirming the day’s events as shared by mainstream media. Anna is very quietly consuming her stew as she listens, her brow furrowed with concentration.

“— _so the hot zone will be expanding along the coast eastward, notices should be up before noon tomorrow, probably. Em’s fleet is still moving so by the time I finish up tonight what I just said may already be old news. Keep your eyes and ears open, listen to your local sheriffs, be ready to bail at a moment’s notice if you need to._ ”

Dean sounds pretty much the same. Tired and mildly stressed, but still in control, still focused on delivering the facts. There’s barely a wayward word or pause in his speech, and as he keeps on listening, Castiel is forced to conclude that he may learn absolutely nothing about what happened this morning.

That is, until Dean nears the end of the broadcast. The main meat of his speech out of the way – it’s looking like Michael is ready to retaliate, and his advice is that everyone batten their respective hatches – Dean clears his throat and says, “ _So, uh, this is the part where I provide some sage but non-quotable tips. It feels like I’ve been doing this show for years, so I must’ve covered everything under the sun by now, but every day there’s something new. Whether it’s from me, or from one of my buds hanging around here, there’s always something more I can share, hoping it’ll do some good out there._ ”

There’s a rustle and a hiss, followed by a faint tap as though someone has touched the microphone.

“ _As I was saying! The running joke is that I have no way of knowing if any of this is doing any good. Aside from my buds who check in, I have no clue who’s actually listening. Maybe nobody’s listening, maybe I’m just talking into empty space, I don’t know! But I keep doing it, just in case. Sometimes you can do everything right, or everything you think is right, and there’s not – there’s no immediate feedback, and it feels like… what’s the point? And it’s frustrating!”_

Castiel feels himself frown.

“ _But you gotta keep doing it. You gotta keep on hoping, ‘cause if you stop, that’s when you’re in trouble. I’m gonna give a shout-out to my awesome support crew – you guys are the best, and I would’ve thrown the towel in ages ago if it weren’t for you. I almost, uh… Everyone has their moments of doubt, right, which can turn into moments of stupid. I had one today – I did something I thought was… it felt like a good idea at the time, although that was just me being a moron._ ” There’s a pause. “ _Yeah, this is what happens when I try to improvise. I had a point somewhere! And my point is… hang in there. Sometimes it seems like you’re not making a difference, but you don’t know that for sure. On the off chance you_ are _making a difference, keep on truckin’. Yeah. Look, man, I don’t get paid for this._ ”

Castiel is still frowning. Dean is _flustered_ , which is not what he’d been expecting at all. To make it worse, this type of Dean-speak, composed for a radio broadcast with a general audience that does not necessarily include Castiel, is more difficult to comprehend than usual. The more Dean babbles, the more Castiel’s own thoughts wander – is he eating well, is he sleeping well, is his support team noticing this and will assist they him afterward? Is someone taking care of him? Please let there be someone taking care of him.

The speakers crackle when Dean sighs. “ _And when I tell y’all to hang in there, I’m really telling myself that as well. Good night, all._ ” There’s a second of silence, and then the closing beep.

“Well,” Anna says. Castiel chances a look at her, who for some reason is smiling faintly. “He went a little off the rails there.”

“Maybe he was drunk,” Castiel suggests. “No, that’s not right. The broadcast started out fine.”

“The stress of the situation gets to all of us eventually.” Anna leans back in her chair, her eyes half-closed. “That was kind of endearing.”

Castiel stares at her. “What was endearing?”

“Sorry, maybe that’s a cruel way to put it.” She chuckles at herself. “I thought the way he fumbled was kind of sweet. I think he wanted to say something… personal, maybe, like he wanted to take advantage of the broadcast to ask for something specific, but he couldn’t, because it wouldn’t be right.”

Castiel nods. That’s somewhat in line with his own thoughts, and how there have been other times where Dean’s obviously wanted to speak to Sam directly but been held back by his inability to say his name outright.

“He’s only human, I guess,” Anna says. “I hope whatever it is, it’ll be all right.”

“He just said he has an excellent support system.” That, at least, is a definite relief. “He should be fine.”

Anna hums noncommittally, and starts rereading the notes she’s jotted down. Castiel’s attention is drawn back to the radio, now only playing static. He gets up and walks towards it, only stopping once he is close enough to rest his hand on top of it. The crackle of static has Castiel imagining Dean leaving his microphone at its post and returning to whatever matters are deserving of his attention.

There can be no obvious answers from Dean’s broadcast tonight. There’s no way for Castiel to know if Dean was rattled because of whatever’s happened with his tattoo. It is interesting to note Dean’s choice to talk of his personal frustrations and doubts, of which there are so many ways to read that – good ways, as well as bad ways. Yet the fact remains that Castiel cannot know Dean’s intentions for sure. It is all guesswork, and Castiel knows that he is no expert at guessing what’s happening in Dean’s mind.

Castiel will have to find his own answers for himself one day, and until then there is Dean’s advice: _hang in there._

“We have unfinished business,” Castiel tells the radio quietly. He switches it off, while behind him Anna is too busy muttering to herself to hear him. Castiel adds, his voice even softer, “And I hope you’ll remember me long enough that I may finish it.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tacogrande drew some awesome of art [Cas in his Steve get-up](http://wisepuma23.tumblr.com/post/96918418128/we-have-unfinished-business-and-i-hope-youll)! Check it out~

The news sources that Castiel follows only cover the big, overarching events. Like Michael’s fleet moving along the East coast, Sioux Falls closing their doors to Lucifer’s convoy, the dramatic stand-off in St. Lebanon when a handful of nobles took control of the Council Hall. There are of course smaller movements all over the country, but there’s only so much line space in papers, only so much airtime for Dean’s broadcasts.

Hence, it’s understandable that Castiel has no warning at all for how, one morning, two vehicles marked with heraldry stop at the Gas-n-Sip. Castiel is stocking shelves when he hears the large vehicles pull into the station. His eyes are immediately drawn to the large silver badges carved into the dark vehicle doors – such a stark difference from the usual patrons in these parts.

Now this isn’t alarming in itself, for those who pass through Rexford almost always stop at Nora’s, as gas is almost always a necessity. Castiel calmly leaves his post for the back room – not so much to hide, but simply to check his appearance in the mirror and put down his Walkman.

Nora isn’t in this morning, but Lila is, and she’s minding the cash register. Castiel is just leaving the back room when the bell door rings, marking the entrance of a tall woman with fair hair. She seems irritated, but her voice is polite when she talks to Lila, paying for full tanks of gas for the vehicles outside.

“Sure,” Lila says. “Steve, could you help them—”

“No need, we’re good,” the woman says, curt but not unkind. She is tired, distracted and barely even notices Castiel moving back towards his post at the shelves. “Get much traffic round here?”

“Just enough, I guess,” Lila says.

The woman nods. She gestures at her colleagues outside, who are now stretching their legs and enjoying the view, and mimes at them through the glass window that they should start pumping gas. There’s no way to tell which, if any, of these people are members of the noble Houses marked by the ostentatious badges on the vehicle doors. They’re all dressed simply in jeans or shorts, with shirts and tank tops. That said, these are times when there are more important things to worry about than dressing up according to one’s station.

“Gas rationing’s gone up a few zones over,” the woman says. “I’m surprised you’re not getting more customers ‘cause of that.”

“Kind of risky,” Lila replies. “Small town, one gas station. What if you come all the way up here and we’re out?”

The woman chuckles softly. “True. In that case, I’m glad you were not out today.” She pays for gas, a few bottles of water, and some gum. When she leaves, she makes a gesture with her thumb and forefinger, as though tipping an invisible hat. Lila smiles and waves when the vehicles drive off, presumably taking their passengers far, far away from Rexford.

The whole episode passes by quickly and uneventfully.

* * *

“There’ll be more,” Castiel tells Anna later, when they’re alone in her cottage. “Maybe not immediately, but I’d say sooner rather than later.”

“Do you want to quit?” Anna asks.

“I’m not sure.” To stop working entirely feels like an overreaction. “Even if I did, what else would I do?”

Castiel may want to keep his head down but he knows he wouldn’t enjoy being cooped up. He’s had enough that sort of thing, frankly, and it doesn’t matter that Anna’s cottage is lovely and the reception on her radio is crisp and clear.

Yet the more time passes, the more plausible it feels that Castiel has truly become as irrelevant as he’d once wished to be. Based on the news that filters through to them it’s clear that the playing field has moved on tremendously in the two months since Day Zero – Michael and Lucifer’s sights are firmly on each other, the noble Houses are circling around them likes hawks, and practically no one has any more need of minor pieces that are unable to fully play their part. Of course, Castiel’s returning from obscurity could change that, but he is not and will not. He is quiet and removed. It would take too much effort and too little pay-off to find him.

Rexford has been very good to them as well, Castiel thinks. Anna has enough belief in this new home of hers that she is content with letting Castiel stay by himself whenever she has out-of-town errands. Castiel is content with this arrangement as well, which is ideal in its simplicity.

He is not restless, and even if he was, any desire to wander is outweighed by the importance of lying low, and it’s not as though he has anywhere else he wishes to be. Save for the few lonely hunters that pass through Rexford on their way to more interesting locales, there’s been little risk of Castiel being ousted from his hiding place.

That could change, though. Michael’s fleet is moving along the coast, fueling rumors that he’s searching for Lucifer, or other ports to take, or both. The increased rationing of gas and food means that more people will be moving south – not just displaced people, but also convoys of people on missions who will suck up the local supplies in order to enable said missions.

“Well, I’ve got to head out to my checkpoint in a few days,” Anna says. “If you’re feeling up for it, you can join me. We can have a look-see what’s happening further up the highway.”

Castiel is surprised by the suggestion. Surprised, and then intrigued, because it means that Anna is feeling more confident about their shared ability for subterfuge, and the general level of safety in the surrounding area.

“You don’t think that’s risky?” Castiel asks.

“No more than you hanging around by yourself while mysterious convoys drop by your place of work to say hello.” Anna shrugs. “At least if we’re together, we can watch out for each other. Who knows? There might be some other better opportunity for you down the chain.”

Anna voices the idea so simply, so casually, as though it wasn’t only a month ago that she was loathe to let Castiel out of sight for five minutes when they went grocery shopping in town. But he was disoriented at the time, and poorly versed in the art of blending in.

Things have improved since then, certainly, but Castiel feels like he could be doing more, even if it’s something as small as shadowing Anna and learning how she accomplishes the things she does. Castiel has already picked up various nuances of how to live an uneventful life in a small continental town, so he might as well start picking up nuance of how to be an unnoticed message courier during an international crisis.

“I’ll ask Nora if I can take a few days off,” Castiel says.

* * *

One thing Castiel has started doing again is journaling. He has some money now, which he’s used to buy some nice stationery, including an unlined notebook with a dark green faux-leather cover. He doesn’t write anything sensitive that could mean trouble in the wrong hands, of course, so the pages are filled with doodles, life sketches and rough copies of maps (he’s getting to know the northern coastline very well), random thoughts, and things he’d overheard at the Gas-n-Sip that he doesn’t understand but would like to investigate.

When Anna drives them down the winding hill roads to Rawlinshire, Castiel brings his journal with him, sketching the scenery from the passenger seat while Anna drives. Anna’s car is ancient, procured through mysterious means she has yet to divulge, but it is functional enough. Castiel draws the dashboard, Anna’s hands on the steering wheel, the shape of the lock mechanism of the doors. They don’t talk most of the way, but the silence is comfortable, easy. Sometimes Anna hums a song under her breath, and Castiel tries to imagine lyrics to go along with the tune.

Rawlinshire itself is not all the different from Rexford. The buildings are styled the same, though because Rawlinshire is not carved out of a hillside like Rexford, there is more breathing space between its streets. There is a town center with the same kind of stores albeit slightly bigger, plus a post and telegram office. Anna takes Castiel to that last one, where she introduces him to the clerk, shows him how to send his latest letter to Balthazar, and demonstrates how the relay system works. It’s _fascinating._

If Anna is worried about this road trip, her concern manifests through occasional questioning if Castiel is okay, and surreptitiously observing every single person that crosses their paths – which is fair, since Castiel studies everyone the same way. But no one pays them any mind, or is suspicious when Castiel is unable to mask his accent the few times he speaks. This may not be a major crossroads town, but its location along the highway means it’s gotten used to strangers passing through. Everyone seems in more of a hurry here, too. Perhaps it’s because this town is built on flatter land, so the people feel more obliged to walk quickly.

There is one major difference between Rexford and Rawlinshire, and that is that they have refugee rooms in the town’s admin center. Anna takes Castiel there once her main tasks are out of the way, showing him how to sign in at reception and leading him through the courtyard to the classrooms that have been converted into a temporary shelter for displaced persons who are passing through. There are only a handful of people here today – what looks like a family of four camped in a corner with sleeping bags, a young man chatting easily with a clerk, and a pair of ladies who appear to working on letters at a desk.

“Hael came through here, didn’t she?” Castiel asks.

“Yes, that’s right.” Anna is standing in front of a check-in list that’s posted on the wall. There are names, dates and signatures of people who have passed through this center, plus a couple of photographs of people who are searching or being searched for. Anna flicks her fingertip in the air as she reads down the list of names.

“Do they take volunteers?” Castiel asks.

“You’ll need to pass a background check for that,” Anna says. “But they’re not really hard up for those kinds of resources, not this far south. What people really need is transport and networking. The transport is obvious, and the networking is so they know where they need transport _to._ ”

“Yes, that makes sense.”

It is quiet in here, the rooms’ few occupants subdued as they go about their business. Castiel’s certain that this not the case further north, though – those centers must be bustling with activity and packed to the brim. Dean certainly talks about it enough, sharing tips on how the centers work and reminding people of their rights in such places, whether as temporary tenants or visitors in search of loved ones.

Here, at least, the situation is under control. Castiel finds that comforting – that at least some people are taken care of, and that some people care enough to take care. Castiel has always felt small in the scheme of things, but this is one of those moments where he is all right with it. He has it in him to trust that there are those who know what they’re doing.

Anna nudges Castiel’s elbow, signaling that she’s going to talk to the now-available clerk. Castiel adjusts his hat and trails after her.

* * *

Now, Castiel would be the last person to say that he doesn’t believe that ridiculous coincidences can happen in real life. After all, a ridiculous coincidence is what kicked off his month of a marital misadventure and landed a marriage tattoo on the arguably wrong Winchester’s arm. Castiel might even one day tell the full story to someone – Anna, probably; Balthazar, possibly – though his imagination is unable to conjure a guess as to how they might react. The actual events just sound ridiculous, even in his head.

What’s also ridiculous is what happens the second time that Castiel is in Rawlinshire, two short weeks after the first.

Castiel doesn’t _have_ to follow Anna on her next check-in, but he enjoyed his first trip down, and he thinks Nora is relieved he’s using his accumulated off-time for such a purpose. She hasn’t asked anything about his tattoo or marital situation, but quiet concern rolls off her every so often. Castiel appreciates this even as he thinks it unnecessary. Anyway, Anna is agreeable for his joining her, so off they go.

They stop at the post office to deal with mail, Anna argues with the telegram clerk about wiring money to a high risk area, and Castiel picks up copies of the national paper and various editorials from the convenience store next to the post office. (He likes the photographs of the city centers and occupied towns – Dean’s broadcast provides plenty, but not visual references.)

Then it’s to the refugee center. The family from last time is still present, but there are a few new tenants in the communal room. Anna goes straight to the notice board, trying to find someone who should’ve passed through. Castiel hovers behind her, curious but patient, and that is when his eye a young lady, likely in her late teens, who is sitting at one of the room’s tables and trying to tie a protective charm on the back of a sneaker.

Castiel doesn’t know what compels him to wander over and speak to her. This isn’t the kind of thing he does, even when he _isn’t_ hidden under a face that isn’t entirely his. Perhaps it’s professional pride kicking in, necessitating his crossing the few feet across the room and offering, “If you fix it on the front, it can double as a weapon.”

The young lady looks up at him, wary, suspicious, and then thoughtful. “I don’t think I’m going to have many chances to kick a dragon.”

“Ah. Yes.” Castiel hovers there for a moment, watching her go back to scrutinizing the back of her sneakers. “Rubber dulls the effect.”

She looks up at him again. “Huh?”

“Rubber isn’t a conduit, it earths the effect of the charm. It doesn’t block it entirely, of course, nothing can do that short of fire and its derivatives, but it’s at its strongest if it’s touching something living, preferable the person that’s trying to wield it, because it draws its energy from…” Castiel trails off. “I apologize. I used to… teach.”

The young woman laughs softly. “Okay, yeah, that kinda explains it.” She cocks her head a little, inviting Castiel to sit at the table. “They showed you around already?”

“Oh, I’m not… I’m not displaced.” Castiel clears his throat when the young woman’s eyes sweep him up and down. “Well, yes, I am, but I’m not staying here. My sister has given me sanctuary.” He glances back at Anna, who is now animatedly conversing with a clerk.

“That’s nice.” The young woman sounds faintly jealous. “So. How should I put my charm on, then?”

“Oh. I would suggest you do it this way…” Castiel talks softly as he shows how he’d put the charm at the front of her shoe, wound through the shoelaces instead of pinned at the heel. The young woman nods with rapt interest, asking why this and why that, and Castiel explains. They may be strangers to each other, but these are unusual times.

“Uh, Steve,” Anna says softly. When Castiel looks at her she adds, “I have to see the secretary, will you be okay?”

“Yes, I’ll be here,” Castiel answers.

After Anna disappears through the doorway, the young woman next to Castiel says, “Wouldn’t’ve pegged you for a Steve.”

Castiel gives her a look. “Would Steven be more fitting?”

“Stephen, maybe.” She grins. “I’m Kate, by the way.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Kate.”

Kate has more questions, about charms in general and other protective trinkets, which eventually leads into discussion about advanced protective measures. Castiel confesses that he isn’t an expert, and that at most he can explain why things work the way they do, but he is less capable on commenting on how they are translated into everyday applications. Kate laughs a little, shakes her head, and says how ironic it is that she misses her college classes when a few scant weeks ago she was begging for a reprieve from the work load.

“Did they close the whole campus?” Castiel asks.

“Last I heard, no,” Kate says. “It’s not that close to the Howard Line but last week I heard the next town over was taken for, um… as a base.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“They have awesome seafood down there, so I don’t blame ‘em.” Kate grins when Castiel chokes on a surprised laugh. Her wry sense of humor is oddly comfortingly, and they share resigned smiles over her silver-bedecked sneakers. “I just hope everyone’s okay.”

“Yes, of course.”

Castiel isn’t completely unaware of his surroundings. He may be in the middle of sharing an interesting conversation, but he’s also cognizant of the other people in the communal room. There’s the family in their cozy corner, a group of four sitting near the radio on the wall that’s playing faint music, the man who’s asleep in his sleeping bag, and the clerk by the door.

There’s also a new arrival, only just visible through the open door. Castiel only saw their movement at the corner of his eye, and he’d figured that he’s reading the notice board.

But then the person, a man, says in a clear voice to the clerk, “Is everyone listed here?”

Castiel doesn’t jump. He is not facing the door, and he has Kate to keep his gaze. Yet his face must twitch, or at least fall completely blank, because Kate frowns a little in surprise, then concern. Her eyes flicker briefly towards the newcomer.

The clerk replies in the affirmative, adding that everyone who’s passed through the center has been declared properly. The man he’s talking to hums the hum of someone who is not convinced, and asks a few more questions along that line of thought.

If there were a mirror in this room, Castiel could chance a look at the newcomer. Unfortunately there isn’t, so Castiel leans towards Kate and says quietly, “Could you describe that gentleman to me?”

“Uh, okay.” Kate keeps her voice low. “Tall, six feet, thereabouts? Bald, dark, strong. Nice clothes, really serious. More serious than you, even.”

Behind him, Uriel – for indeed, it must be Castiel’s cousin Uriel – is sharing his own description with the clerk: “I’m searching for my cousin. We have lost contact with him and are most distressed. He’s a stubborn youth, and I suspect he wouldn’t ask for aid, but I know that he has been traveling in this direction and cannot have gone far. He’s in his early twenties, brown hair and hazel eyes, six foot four—”

“Sir, everyone who’s come through here is listed on the board,” the clerk says. “We keep a thorough record of everyone, even if they don’t sleep in.”

“Yes, but I am asking if _you_ have seen him,” Uriel says, with the paper-thin tolerance that Castiel remembers so well. “He may very well have used a fake name for your register, so I am describing him to you.”

Castiel cannot hear the clerk’s mumbled response, but he can far-too-easily imagine his discomfort in the face of Uriel’s demands. Uriel isn’t the best interrogator Castiel knows, but he is certainly one of the most intimidating.

“He _must_ have come here, this is the only bottleneck of the highway and there’s been no southward buses since yesterday morning,” Uriel says. “Your memory can’t possibly be that faulty, or what are you good for?”

“I—I’m sorry, sir, but the board has—”

“Is that really all you can say?”

Castiel only has a few seconds to make a decision. He takes his journal out from his jacket, opening to a fresh page on which he scribbles a quick note. Retreating footsteps mark Uriel’s leaving the room, so Castiel rips the page out and presses it in Kate’s hands.

“My sister will be back soon,” Castiel says urgently. “Can you please pass this to her?”

“Yes, of course,” Kate says. There is no confusion or questioning in the way she nods at him and palms the note efficiently; Castiel briefly wonders if this means she knows well what it is to run and hide. But there is no time for that now, for Castiel has to get up on his feet and follow Uriel before he can disappear.

“Thank you, Kate,” Castiel says gratefully. “Perhaps we’ll meet again.”

* * *

Uriel is making minimal effort to blend in with the locals, which tells plenty about his state of mind. He isn’t dressed as formally as he usually does at court, but his clothes are still visibly expensive. Add to that his straight posture and confident strides, and it is obvious that his mission is not one of subterfuge.

Castiel, on the other hand, _is_ on a mission of subterfuge, and is doing his very best in tailing Uriel down Rawlinshire’s streets, away from town hall and towards the town center. Castiel suspects that he’s doing a poor job of staying hidden as he scurries along some yards behind Uriel, but working in Castiel’s favor is the fact that Uriel isn’t suspicious of his surroundings. Uriel is a train, roaring his way down this foreign street and uncaring of anyone and everyone who sends curious glances his way.

This much is known: Uriel is searching for someone who isn’t Castiel. Uriel is senior nobility, and any task given to him would have to be of a high priority. Uriel doesn’t care that everyone can see that he is a foreigner, which means he intends to blaze through the town efficiently and move on.

Castiel doesn’t know much else, which is the worst part. He should be able to make himself known to this cousin of his, who has spoken up for Castiel in the past and about whom Castiel has some good memories, but these are strange times and theirs is a volatile family. Castiel can’t do more but follow him for the moment and see what his intentions are.

Well, Castiel doesn’t _have_ to follow him. He could’ve just stayed at the refugee center and told Anna about what a close call he’d had with their cousin, and how odd it is for Uriel to be in this quieter corner of the country when he should be in the heart of the grand conflict that is the royal family feud.

But Castiel wants to know. He is compelled to find out what his cousin is up to, because it is very odd that he’s here, in person, searching for someone that isn’t Castiel. There’s been very little movement of interest in this area, save the occasional nobles and hunters passing through, and if Uriel’s actions are a secret prelude to that changing abruptly, then Castiel must know. Anna and her acquaintances must know. Castiel is obliged to find out what he can.

Uriel drops by various expected places: the post office, two bank branches, the sheriff’s office, and a grocery store. His face is impassive but to Castiel it seems that his annoyance grows every time he leaves a location empty-handed. He moves with the urgency of someone who expects their target to be literally right around the corner, which must mean he’s working with an already-tight noose.

It’s almost sundown when Uriel – and by proxy Castiel – gets his big break. Uriel’s questioning of some townsfolk leads him to a motel on the edge of town. There are fewer people here, which makes Castiel’s shadowing Uriel a trickier endeavor and necessitates him ducking around the corner of the motel office when Uriel almost sees him.

Apparently Uriel’s target is here, in one of the motel rooms. Apparently Uriel’s target is someone who climbs out a window and runs, because that’s what Castiel sees the next time he leans around the corner. Uriel has been walking all day but that doesn’t slow him down – he sprints across the motel parking lot for his prey, knocking him to the ground without a care for witnesses.

They are grappling on the gravel now, Uriel’s voice harsh and sharp. The man under him – perhaps a man, perhaps not, Castiel is too far to see clearly – is flailing and kicking, but he is not yelling for help, nor calling for locals to pull this obvious foreigner off of him.

Castiel doesn’t know what’s happening. He doesn’t have time to think, either. Uriel has gotten his target’s hands behind their back and is shoving their face into the ground. A handful of people are hovering around now, a bystander is angrily demanding to know what’s happening and Uriel is snapping back that it’s none of their business.

Castiel leaves his hidden corner and walks towards the commotion. His mind is racing and his heart pounding, but he is still able to walk calmly to join the others who are gawping at the action. A motel such as this won’t have security, but someone might be calling for authorities soon if they haven’t already. Uriel must know this as well, so his next movements will be swift. Castiel’s movements must be swift as well.

“Hey!” a man shouts, trying to get Uriel’s attention. “What’s the trouble? What’s the kid done?”

“Plenty, I can assure you,” Uriel responds smoothly. His jacket is just a little crumpled when he rises to his feet, dragging his captive up with him. “If you get out of the way, I’ll be out of your way.”

This close, recognition catches Castiel’s breath. The boy – no, _man_ , Castiel corrects mentally – in Uriel’s grip is Sam Winchester. His hair is matted and he has dark stubble along his chin, but that is definitely Sam.

The angry local moves forward, almost nose-to-nose with Uriel. “How about showing us some travel papers, buddy?”

Uriel huffs under his breath, brutally unimpressed and shoves the local out of his way. “I’ll pencil it into my schedule.”

“Hey, don’t you walk away from—”

Castiel darts forward, halting the man in his tracks by grabbing his arm. He hisses urgently, “Get the sheriff. Call the sheriff, right now.”

The man blinks rapidly, nods when that sinks in, and then rushes off for the motel office. The other bystanders are not so eager to get involved, and awkwardly move back.

Castiel turns around. He is in the open now, and does not flinch when he sees that Uriel is looking right at him. His expression is at first one of confusion and disdain, followed by surprised recognition. “Ca—“

“Steve,” Castiel snaps. “My name is Steve. Surely you remember, Uriel.”

“Ah,” Uriel says. “I see.” He’s still holding firmly to his prize, who is now frowning and squinting from Uriel to Castiel and back.

If Castiel runs now, Uriel won’t chase after him – a bird in the hand, et cetera. But that doesn’t seem like the most fruitful course of action, not when Castiel has so few resources at hand. Best to stay where he is, and glance pointedly at the motel office.

“The authorities will be this way soon,” Castiel says.

“Mmm, yes.” Uriel doesn’t seem to want to move, either. “Why are you here?”

Castiel turns to his cousin sharply, his gaze openly assessing. It feels a little strange to do this after so many weeks of ducking his head and avoiding eye contact, but it comes back easily enough. He and Uriel are royal cousins who are meeting again for the first time in months, and Castiel is capable of ignoring his pounding heart to take the risk and say: “Tell me you’re not working for Michael.”

For a moment, Uriel’s face is stoic. Then there’s a small twitch at the corner of his mouth, followed by his eyes lighting up with amusement. “Of course not.”

“Good.” Castiel starts to turn. “Be on your way, then.”

“Wait,” Uriel says. Castiel turns back, raising an eyebrow in question. “Come with me. We haven’t seen each other in… too long.”

“Do you have a car?” Castiel asks.

“Not here. Back in town.”

“Then hurry. If the sheriff comes down on you, don’t expect me to hang around.”

Uriel inclines his head in understanding. “Of course not.”

Sam looks utterly confused as he’s hauled along, but Castiel spares him only a casual look of disinterest.

* * *

It is a strange journey back to the town center, Uriel walking briskly as he drags a surprisingly docile Sam along. No one stops them, though Castiel guesses that the sheriff’s office will or already has received a description of Uriel and Sam, which will necessitate Uriel’s leaving town as soon as possible.

For now, Uriel takes them to his hotel room, which they’re able to enter after they do some cursory cleaning Sam’s face and cover his shoulders with Uriel’s jacket to hide his bound arms. Through it all Sam says nothing – no protests, no begging, no calling for help. Even they’re inside Uriel’s room and the door is locked behind him, Sam drops easily into a chair when Uriel shoves him towards it. There are still scratches on Sam’s face from where Uriel pressed him into the gravel, but he doesn’t seem to care.

Uriel takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulders – no doubt basking in a task well-done. “You do know this one?”

“Is that a trick question?” Castiel looks down at Sam, whose face is averted. “Last I heard he’d joined Lucifer’s cause. But I can’t say I’m surprised he ran. That’s what he does.”

Sam flinches. Uriel laughs under his breath and touches Castiel’s shoulder, turning him so that he can pull Castiel into a quick, back-slapping hug.

“It’s good to see you,” Uriel says. “And doing so well.”

Castiel keeps his smile neutral. “Depends on what you mean by ‘well’, isn’t it? Having to do this—” he gestures at his face, “—in order to stay hidden is its own challenge.”

“But look at your success!” Uriel says. “There’s been no sighting of you since you escaped Michael’s clutches. A few rumors, here and there, but you’ve eluded everyone, which is a feat not many can do. I am impressed, Castiel.”

Castiel sighs. “It’s good to hear my name spoken to me.”

“Of course, of course.” Uriel’s hand moves down Castiel’s arm and cups his elbow. His grip is a little stronger than necessary, and Castiel cannot misunderstand its meaning. “Castiel. I can help you. I know people who can help you.”

“Lucifer and his minions, you mean,” Castiel says. “You threw in your lot with the bastard brother.”

Uriel smiles broadly, pleased instead of insulted. “The _discarded_ brother, you mean. Just as you were the discarded child.” His voice is gentler when he says, “You should meet him. There is so much you have in common.”

“I have no interest in your conflict.” Castiel pulls away from Uriel, but only so far as to show that he doesn’t want to be touched. “Take your… _runaway_ and go back to your master.”

Uriel shakes his head in amusement. “You haven’t changed.” He drifts over to the sink, where he fills a glass and takes a drink. Sam hasn’t moved from his chair, but Castiel dare not look at him yet. His full attention has to be on Uriel, who says, “You came up here with me. Why?”

Castiel clenches his jaw, but doesn’t answer.

“Because you have been trapped and alone for… how long has it been?” Uriel makes an indulgent sound. “Surrounded by hicks for so long, you are relieved to see a familiar face. You are relieved to see _family_. Castiel, you are not alone. I may have done my part at court, but it was always… hidden. Cowardly. _You_ were the first to openly defy Michael. When I heard what happened, how you escaped his clutches so cleverly, I was proud. So proud, so honored, to have known you.”

“I didn’t do it for Lucifer,” Castiel snaps.

“No, but you continued his work, in a way. And you brought on Michael’s humiliation, opening the door for Lucifer to come in.”

Castiel turns away. “You don’t need to remind me that I’m a traitor—”

“You are _not_!” Uriel surges forward, grabbing Castiel’s forearms to shake him fiercely. “You are a hero. Michael is a self-centered bully, unworthy of his office. He has done wrong by all of us, his own kin, and finally – _finally_ – we are close to putting him in his place.”

“No, you’re not,” Castiel scoffs. “Michael’s taken almost the entire north-east coast, and what have you done? Blown up a few ships. Sued him. Insulted his lineage.”

“There’s more than that,” Uriel says calmly. “I assure you. Lucifer’s plans are… thorough.”

Castiel rubs his hand over his face. He considers sitting on the bed, which is within walking distance, but decides against it. Instead he stands there uselessly, tired and indecisive, until Uriel puts a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You are better than this place,” Uriel says quietly. “Let’s go home.”

“Home?” Castiel laughs. “Where is that?”

“Hortus, if you wish it,” Uriel says. “Or here, if you’ve grown fond of this… patch of land. The mountains are quite beautiful, and it’s such a pity its current tenants do not appreciate it.”

Castiel sighs. “Just tell me what you’re going to do to the boy.”

“Winchester?” Uriel starts in surprise. “You were right. He fled from Lucifer’s side, and I was assigned to take him back. If I bring you back with me, it will be a coup.”

“I will help load him in your car, but I—”

“Don’t answer yet.” Uriel squeezes Castiel’s shoulder. “But you’re right, we should not waste time.”

They turn their attention towards Sam, who is eyeing them warily. He looks uncomfortable with his hands bound behind him, but he makes no move to adjust his position where he’s slumped in the chair.

Castiel hovers back, just enough that he’s out of Uriel’s line of sight, and carefully takes a hold of the ornamental clock from the side table. Uriel is busy grabbing fistfuls of Sam’s shirt, ready to drag him up to his feet, when Castiel brings said clock down to the back of Uriel’s head.

Uriel stumbles, crying out in surprise, but Castiel gets another firm blow in. Sam’s eyes are wide with shock he watches Uriel crumple to the ground, and then those eyes slowly look up to Castiel.

“We must assume that the local authorities are searching for Uriel and yourself,” Castiel says. He quickly rummages through Uriel’s pockets, finding a pocket knife and keys. “Do you wish to wait here for them to find you?”

“What?” Sam’s voice is hoarse, and he clears his throat before speaking again. “I don’t—what?”

“Get up. Up, up, up!” Castiel manhandles Sam up onto his feet, pushing the jacket off his shoulders and reaching round to snap the plastic ties around his wrist open with the knife. “If you wish to go, we must go now.”

“But—” Sam looks down at Uriel, “—why did you just… Oh, uh, yes! Yes, I want to go.”

“Good.” Castiel quickly makes for the door, opening it carefully to confirm that the hallway beyond is empty, and makes an impatient sound when Sam is slow to catch up. “We’ll talk later, yes? Now we put those long legs of yours to use.”

“Okay,” Sam says dazedly.

* * *

Anna is waiting at her car, which is still where she parked it behind the Laundromat. Castiel heaves a sigh of relief when he sees her, never mind that she has her arms crossed and looks pissed and isn’t making any move to start the engine despite Castiel’s attempts to mime the action to her.

Anna jerks her head towards Sam. “Who is this?”

“Sam Winchester.” When Anna’s face goes strange, Castiel adds, “My brother-in-law.”

“I know who Sam Winchester is,” Anna says sharply. “Did he just fall out of the sky? Literally, judging from that face?”

Sam grimaces, but Castiel cuts in urgently with, “Uriel is hunting him. I’ll explain, but I suggest that we be in motion before I do that.”

“You want to take him with us?” Anna sighs and opens the car door. “You want to take him with us. Fine. Let’s move.”

Castiel shoos Sam in to the car, not-quite shoving him into the vehicle as he says, “Sam, this is my sister, Anna.”

“Hi,” Sam says, fumbling into the back seat and scooting over to give Castiel room. “Uh.”

“Is there anything we should know before we remove ourselves from the scene?” Castiel asks. “Anyone else with you, anything important you’ve left behind?”

“No,” Sam says. “No, this is pretty much it.”

Luck is on their side. Luck and small town traffic, which has them out of Rawlinshire with no trouble whatsoever. Castiel doesn’t know how much activity the local law enforcement has to deal with, but it’s better to be safe than sorry, and he does hope that someone will find Uriel soon and tend to his concussion.

“Uriel knows I’m in the area now,” Castiel says. “I shouldn’t return here.”

“I might have to move operations as well,” Anna says. “What is this, by the way? Do you have some talent for stumbling upon Winchester men when you least expect it?”

“If that’s the case, I would’ve been able to get that interview with Lord Henry I’ve always wanted.”

“I was heading south,” Sam says suddenly. “I, um. I was just waiting for the next bus out. I – I knew they sent someone after me, but I didn’t expect them to be so close.”

“They?” Anna asks.

Sam hesitates, his expression pained. It needs to be said, though, so Castiel says, “Lucifer.”

Anna’s expression isn’t visible from this angle, but her shoulders are tense. No doubt she is thinking about the implications of this, and no doubt she will come to the near the same conclusions as Castiel. Uriel is working for Lucifer, and has probably been undermining Michael for some time in court before finally breaking ranks and joining his brother. Lucifer has lost his hold on this man who could potentially spill the beans on his operations, and he will send more than just Uriel to deal with it next time.

“How far is he?” Anna asks. “Lucifer.”

“When I got out there were still camped at Hollow Creek. Grandpa Campbell has a… he has a house there. That was a week ago, maybe?”

That’s quite a distance from Rawlinshire, and requires breaking through at least two checkpoints that Castiel can recall from Anna’s maps. It more than explains Sam’s paleness and bloodshot eyes. There’s no way that Lucifer can send a force out undetected – Uriel was probably the most he was willing to spare.

“Fuck,” Sam breathes. He’s still staring at Castiel, perplexed and unsettled. “Why’d you help me? You don’t _know_ me.”

“I know Uriel,” Castiel says. In the front seat, Anna barks a sharp, agreeing laugh. “I could hear what he didn’t spell out – of his disdain for the Republic, and of his belief that it doesn’t belong to its people. And you? You are fleeing from him. That is enough.”

“But it shouldn’t be,” Sam protests. “I – I abandoned my brother. I abandoned _you_.”

It’s true that Castiel barely knows Sam, but he understands well enough what it is to walk the path of good intentions gone awry. Dean’s lengthy descriptions of Sam are inherently biased – Dean loves him too much to be able to paint a full picture of who Sam is. What Castiel can do is take in the sight before him, of a young man who is scared and desperate, and who let Uriel handle him like a piece of meat, and who did not once call out for help because he did not want it or did not feel he deserved it. This young man is running _south_ , away from the family that loves and can protect him.

It is terribly familiar, and it makes Castiel terribly angry. Castiel knows what to do with anger.

“Are you hungry?” Castiel asks. “We can pick up some food somewhere.”

Sam shakes his head. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Castiel says firmly. “You will humor me, because you left me at the metaphorical altar.”

Sam blinks rapidly, startled. “Um.”

“That was a joke,” Castiel adds. “Just so we’re clear.”

“Oh,” Sam says weakly. “Okay.”

* * *

Anna is on edge, which is good, because someone should be. Castiel is too busy studying Sam, noting his injuries, the state of his clothes, the grime on his hair and hands. It’s hard to tell how long he’s been running – he seems to be in decent shape, aside from the dirtiness and exhaustion. His eyes, though. Those are the eyes of the defeated, and it makes him seem both older and younger than the man Castiel first met all those months ago, both of them awkward and fumbling as they attempted to make small talk over tea.

No one is in the mood to talk as Anna’s car rumbles along the darkening roads. They make a brief stop at a diner for some take-away, but move on quickly, Anna insistent that they get off the main roads. Castiel doesn’t know where they’re going, but he trusts Anna to take a route most beneficial to them.

Eventually Anna pulls into a quiet motel. She says, “I think we should stop here for the night. What d’you think? I know the manager, it should be fine.” Castiel is agreeable with this, and Sam just shrugs.

They get a room for two and request an additional cot. Sam doesn’t have any extra clothes, so Castiel gives him some from his backpack and says, “These aren’t mine either, so don’t worry about it,” when Sam protests.

While Sam is washing up in the bathroom, Castiel takes the opportunity to speak to Anna.

“I know this messes things up for you,” Castiel says. “I didn’t expect to find him and Uriel.”

“But you followed Uriel,” Anna says tightly. “You chose to do that.”

“I left you a note.”

Anna sighs. Her anger is different from Castiel’s, and she is entitled to it. Castiel doesn’t protest when she moves away from him, going to the table to start rummaging through the plastic bags containing their dinner.

“I couldn’t leave him,” Castiel says.

“I’m not saying that you should have,” Anna says. “I probably would have done the same thing. I just don’t like the way it feels when I return to where I left you, only to find that you’re missing. It’s not fun.”

There’s nothing Castiel can say to that. He ducks his head, contrite and accepting.

“Turn on the radio,” Anna says. “We’ve already missed the opening.”

Castiel sits up sharply. A glance at his watch confirms that it’s already well past seven. Like most motels in this area, there is a radio built into the table between the beds. Castiel goes to it immediately, pressing switches and fiddling with knobs as he tries to figure out how it works.

Sam exits from the bathroom just as Dean’s voice is filling the room with: “ _The college is secure for now, but you gotta assume they’ll be making themselves comfortable._ ”

Anna is consuming dinner as she listens to the broadcast, but Castiel is watching Sam. Castiel kept his eyes on the bathroom door when Sam stepped through it, and so gets to observe every twitch on Sam’s (perhaps unintentionally) expressive face as Dean’s voice filters through his awareness. There is confusion, recognition, more confusion, and then stunned understanding.

Sam staggers out of the bathroom, drawn by the lure of Dean’s steady voice: “ _So back to y’all who’re gonna head up over the Ee Line, just remember it is not an invitation to party. At least, hold on to that party until I get there myself, y’hear. This is me, signing out, and good night._ ”

There’s the beep, and then the room is silent once more. Anna is still eating, but she’s looking up at Sam now. “Dinner?”

“Oh,” Sam says, jolting out of his stupor. “Yes.”

Sam eats slowly and carefully, his mind clearly occupied with processing what he’s just heard. Castiel knows that Dean’s radio station must be less a secret these days – Nora and Lila know about it, as do Anna’s contacts, and who knows how many other non-hunters have learned about it the way that Castiel did. Hence it’s somewhat of a surprise that Sam does _not_ , because surely Lucifer must have learned of its existence long before now.

While Castiel eats (and continues to study Sam), he realizes that it would make more sense that Lucifer has been keeping Sam in the dark in order to control him. It wouldn’t do for his prize to have access to his family in any way. Castiel’s only assuming, of course, but the machinations of his family tend to be… predictable.

“Is something wrong with your stomach?” Anna asks kindly.

Sam jumps a little, as though he’d forgotten he isn’t alone. “Um. No, nothing. It’s fine.”

It is an awkward situation, filled with uncertainty and no clear route on what to do next. The previous issue had been to get away from Uriel, and the current issue is getting some food into their bellies. Sam doesn’t seem inclined to talk, not that Castiel blames him – he and Anna are unknown quantities to him, their intentions unclear.

Once dinner is out of the way and Anna is having her turn in the bathroom, Castiel clears his throat. “Sam. I would like you to listen to something.”

Sam’s curious eyes follow Castiel when he goes to his bag. Castiel’s Walkman is still in there, as are a few of his cassettes. He didn’t manage to record tonight’s broadcast, but there is still something to be gained from his trustworthy little companion. The cassettes are marked by date, and Castiel has listened to them often enough that he knows which to pick first.

“Please.” Castiel hands his the Walkman, the cassette already inside it and ready to play. “Just for a little while.”

Sam puts the headphones on, his eyes on Castiel the entire time. He is a man but in this moment he looks terribly young, staring at Castiel with the clear expectation that he is exactly like his cousins. Sam must have met quite a number of them, aside from Lucifer and Uriel. Castiel does not begrudge Sam looking at him like this; he only begrudges how that look has ended up on his face.

Then Sam clicks play, and his attention is instantly snatched away.

This needs to be a private moment. Castiel retreats to the cot he has chosen for tonight, leaving Sam to enjoy the recording. Castiel and Sam may not know each other as people, but they have Dean as their common ground. Dean Winchester the phantom of the radio, his every word full of hope and cheer and worry, his disembodied voice more alive than Castiel sometimes feels.

Sam listens to the cassette until it is complete, and then turns it around to the other side, then takes the next cassette that Castiel quietly puts on the table next to him. Sam is still listening when Castiel’s finished brushing his teeth and is preparing to go to sleep. Castiel only glances his way once, just to check, and Sam has a hand over his eyes, and the mouth just visible under it is twisted in a way that is very familiar.

Sam must sense Castiel’s watching, because he looks up, his hand falling away to meet Castiel’s gaze. Sam’s eyes are bright and slightly wild.

“He misses you,” Castiel says. “A great deal.”

“I can’t go back,” Sam says hoarsely. “I—I can’t, what I’ve done…”

“He’ll forgive everything,” Castiel says. Anna is already under the covers of her own bed, but she’s probably still awake. It doesn’t matter. “In fact, I’d wager he already has.”

“No, you don’t understand, I _helped them_.” Sam’s hands are trembling when he pulls the headphones off, sending them clattering against the table top. “I helped Lucifer and his generals, I told them everything I knew, where to attack, where to cut off. I talked with them for hours, discussing the best ways to break in to the capital. _I_ did that.”

“Not just you alone,” Castiel says. “There were others—”

“I rolled with it!” Sam shouts. “I thought I was protecting my country, but I busted it wide open for someone else!”

“Lucifer used you,” Anna says. She’s sitting up now, her face dark and angry. “When did you find out the true extent of his intentions?”

“A few weeks ago,” Sam says shakily. “Look, his father exiled him, right? And now his brother was going to invade, and he made it like he would give us a fighting chance. He knows Michael’s strategies, the way he thinks. He was going to teach us, help us defend ourselves.”

“That’s not exactly incorrect,” Castiel says wryly.

“But it’s not like I _trusted_ him. Not him, not his people, not…” Sam trails off, shaking his head. “I know how it works. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

Castiel starts with surprise. “You thought you could manage him. You sought to use Lucifer to protect your people.”

“Yes. I did it all on purpose,” Sam says grimly. “You don’t understand, okay? We’re not perfect, I know, but this is my _home_ and I wasn’t gonna sit back and let someone else try to fuck us over just ‘cause the fucking Council couldn’t get their heads out of their asses. Dean will twist it however he likes, but I wasn’t manipulated. I was beaten.”

“Sam,” Anna says. She’s risen off the bed, and is now padding her way barefoot to the table, where she puts a firm hand on Sam’s shoulder. She’s always been better than Castiel at this part. “Fine. You made some choices, and they’ve turned out to be mistakes. But you haven’t actually run out of choices. Knowing what you do, and learning what you’ve learned, you can decide what to do next.”

Sam doesn’t shake Anna’s hand off, but that’s not saying much. “It’s too dangerous for me to stay here. I know too much.”

“Dean will protect you,” Castiel says. “From your own kin, if necessary. It’s not just you who joined Lucifer’s entourage, and it’s not as simple as black and white.”

“He’s stalling on purpose,” Sam says. “He’s letting Michael chase him around the country, and he’s letting the locals – Ellen, the hunters, everyone else who hasn’t picked sides – fight Michael so to use up his resources. That way Lucifer can charge in with one a direct hit and take him out.”

As soon as Sam says that, his eyes drift shut and mouth falls open on a silent exhale. He must have been sitting on that one for a while.

“Does Lucifer know you know this?” Castiel asks.

“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me, I kinda… figured it out.”

Anna quietly sits down on the chair next to Sam. She takes his hand in between hers, rubbing it gently. Her eyes are hard but worried when she looks at Castiel. They may be safe here tonight, but this can’t be kept under wraps for too long.

Sam clears his throat. “There’s something else.” He pulls his hand free from Anna’s, and uses it to push his right sleeve up. Castiel’s breath catches at the sight of dark lines on his skin, elegant and dangerous where they curl around his arm. Sam laughs weakly. “Those of us in the… in the inner circle, we had to take an oath of loyalty once the fighting started.”

“Can he find you with it?” Anna whispers, horrified.

“It isn’t as precise as that, but it can inform Lucifer of his nearness or distance,” Castiel says. He crosses the room to get a better look at the binding, guiding Sam to lay his arm on the table so the full tattoo may be observed. It is smaller than a marriage tattoo, and on the wrong arm. Castiel almost laughs; Lucifer has gone and bastardized the binding’s purpose, almost exactly the way Michael did with him. The brothers are not so different.

“I can break this,” Castiel says. “I don’t have the tools here, but it can be done. I’ll have to bleed you, though.”

“I’ve been bleeding myself,” Sam says.

At that Castiel notices the clumsy cuts at the inside of Sam’s elbow, where he’s been trying to draw the magic out. It explains why Sam is so pale. “I will do it properly,” Castiel says. “If that’s what you want. You know my credentials.”

That draws a small smile out of Sam. “Yes, I know your credentials. Oh my god, Castiel – Cas.” He flails a little with his other hand – the one Castiel is not holding down to study the tattoo – and catches Castiel’s forearm. He squeezes restlessly, his fingers roving over Castiel’s arm in taking reassurance from the touch – Dean used to do the same, Castiel remembers. Sam’s eyes are suspiciously shiny.

“It’s not a problem,” Castiel assures him. “We’ll need to find an apothecary.”

“I know one,” Anna says. “We can go tomorrow.”

Good. That is a clear plan, and Castiel likes plans. Anna can manage their travels, Castiel will list out all the items he needs, and the three of them will discuss the monetary needs to pull it off. They’ll also need to find someone to tell of Lucifer’s plans, not that Castiel and Anna know how to send such a message to those who are in better need of such information. It’s a pity that Dean doesn’t have a telephone hotline.

When Sam speaks up next, his voice small and hesitant: “He wasn’t angry with me? Dean, when I ran – wasn’t he…?”

Castiel ducks his head, catching Sam’s gaze and holding it. “No, he was not. He was angry that you felt you had to run, but he was far more concerned about your well-being.”

“Oh, of course.” Sam blinks rapidly. “Yeah.”

“Did they tell you he was angry at being forced to take your place?” Castiel asks. Sam’s expression is answer enough, so Castiel adds, “No, he was never angry at you. Mostly he was relieved that you got out. Though he would’ve been more relieved if he could have seen you in person to be sure that you were not in trouble.”

Sam nods mutely. The troubled air about him doesn’t dissipate, but Castiel thinks that he greatly needed to hear that. Sam might not entirely believe it, not until he can talk to Dean himself, but Castiel hopes that it will do for now.

“Uh, can I…?” Sam reaches for the Walkman again.

“Of course,” Castiel says. “Please listen to them as many times as you like.”

Tonight they will rest and tomorrow they will move. It is unlikely that Uriel or anyone else of Lucifer’s choosing will be able to track them down overnight, whether or not Sam’s loyalty binding is active or not.

Castiel starts to walk towards his cot, only to be blocked when Anna neatly sidesteps into his path.

“Dean?” she says.

Castiel starts. “What?”

“The man on the radio,” Anna says slowly, her eyes like laser beams on Castiel’s face. “How long have you known that it’s Dean?”

“I wasn’t sure until a few minutes ago,” Castiel says calmly. It’s even mostly the truth. “Sam confirmed it.”

Anna scowls. “Castiel—”

“This is more important,” Castiel adds quickly. “We need to get Sam somewhere safe. For himself, and for the knowledge he holds. Let’s focus on that. Yes? Excellent. I must think carefully on the materials we’ll need to procure tomorrow.”

It is a clumsy exit but an exit nonetheless, Castiel dodging around Anna on his way to the relative privacy of the motel cot at the far end of the room. Thankfully Anna just sighs, dropping the topic to where Castiel hopes it will not fester and boil over later.

It is true, though. This is far more important.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content warning** : Blood-letting for magic-related purposes.
> 
> Nappi did art of [Steve!Castiel](http://nappi.tumblr.com/post/97907617661/so-im-completely-hooked-on-this-au-fanfic-series) in this 'verse!

Daylight brings with it clarity. A hearty dinner and good night’s sleep definitely help as well, for it results in a Sam who is keen and bright-eyed by breakfast. If they were different people, the morning after yesterday’s events would be filled with awkwardness and uncertainty; as it is, all three of them want to get down to the meat of it as soon as possible.

“First of all, we’ll need to get your oath broken,” Anna says. “Castiel?”

“My list.” Castiel carefully pulls out a page of his journal and passes it over. “The ones underlined are non-negotiable, the column on the right are alternatives in case the first is unavailable.”

Anna nods. “Good. Sam? Are you sure you want to do this?”

Sam has been reading the morning’s newspaper – purchased by Anna when she fetched breakfast outside the motel – but his head snaps up now, eyebrows bunched together in offense.  “Why _wouldn’t_ I want to break the oath?”

Anna fixes him with a look. “I’m doing you the courtesy of asking.”

“Oh.” Sam is silent for a moment, almost confused as his gaze drops to his right arm. Castiel wonders how often Sam has studied the lattice of ink there, and what kind of feelings it gives him. Guilt and disgust, certainly, but it can’t have always been that. There must have been pride and satisfaction at the start – it was bodily evidence of Sam’s forging his own path.

“Yeah, I want it off,” Sam says quietly. “Thank you. For, um, asking.”

“Of course,” Anna says.

“Oh, Anna,” Castiel says quickly, “I need to call in to let Nora know I probably won’t be able to come in to work tomorrow.”

Sam turns to Castiel in surprise. “You work?”

“Yes,” Castiel says. “It is quite rewarding.”

The corners of Sam’s mouth snap downwards briefly, but it’s not exactly a frown. “Huh.”

The removal of an oath binding is a relatively simple procedure, so the challenge of the day is in managing the logistics of it. They must consider that Lucifer might have minions on the move, though Sam is of the opinion that the exiled prince is occupied with tightening the noose around his brother, and is thus unlikely to be able to spare more followers to the task of collecting Sam. Then there’s the fact that of the trio of them, only Anna is able to move freely about the realm, since she’s the only one with appropriate travel papers and a face that isn’t cause for suspicion.

These things make the job _tricky_ , but not impossible. Sam is, after all, a local who has managed to stay hidden for weeks now, and his knowledge of Lucifer’s movements is invaluable. Then there’s Anna, whose familiarity with this region’s landscape effectively fills in the gaps of Sam’s knowledge.

They make for a strange trio as they leave the motel, packing themselves quietly and efficiently into Anna’s car to make their way to the apothecary of Anna’s choosing. Sam and Castiel know each other a little more than Sam and Anna do, but that isn’t saying much. If they were other people, the space would be filled with small talk. But as it is, the only option is big talk.

“So, um,” Sam says once Anna’s pulled out into the main road, “are you guys really _not_ fans of Michael?” He’s riding shotgun today, so he turns in his seat to give Castiel a questioning look.

Castiel shrugs. “I’m still coming to terms that it’s possible to be against Michael at all. He’s been king almost my entire life. My thoughts of his rule have always been kept private.”

“Out of necessity and fear,” Anna adds.

“Well, yes,” Castiel says. “Not all of us are as brave as you.”

Anna huffs a laugh, amused at Castiel’s bringing up of that old oft-raised argument between them. “I left the Isles years ago,” she says. “I’m technically an undocumented refugee so… No, definitely not a fan of Michael’s.”

“You just… left?” Sam says in surprise.

Anna tilts her head a little, and Castiel just catches the smile she sends Sam’s way. “Yes. I have my regrets, but choosing for myself isn’t one of them.”

“That’s what…” Sam trails off. He turns away, his expression shielded from Castiel’ scrutiny. When Sam speaks again, his voice is very faint, as though it’s taking great energy to form the words: “Someone once told me almost the same thing. But I didn’t run for myself. I didn’t join with the reformers for _myself_.”

“You wanted to make a difference,” Castiel says.

“Yeah,” Sam says. He doesn’t sound angry, though, not like last night. If anything, he just sounds tired. “And I did, didn’t I? Just not the kind I wanted.”

“What kind of difference did you want to make?” Anna asks.

“There were just a few of us, at first,” Sam says distantly. “Most of ‘em working with the Men of Letters, like me. We’d talk about the changeover in the Council, the executive system built on House lines, Ellen’s reaching out across the border to our old… Okay, ‘enemy’ isn’t the right word, but that was the simplest way to think about Michael at the time. Everyone knows Michael’s been eyeing for years, but then the Council was going to invite him in? That was just… wow.”

Anna and Castiel are strangers to Sam, but Castiel thinks that’s what makes it easier for him to speak. If they were people who knew Sam before it all went down, they’d have questions at the ready and would be coming into the conversation with all sorts of expectations. As it is, Castiel and Anna only hear what Sam chooses to tell them. It might be freeing, in its own way.

The words flow easily now that Sam’s started. He talks simply and with little emotional inflection, as though delivering a historical narrative, detached from the events that he lived through. He talks about how he got drawn into the anti-royal movement, and how his grandfather Samuel and others of the Campbell House were revealed to be part of said movement. He talks about the excitement of being brought into Samuel’s confidences, when his own parents had detached themselves from House politics.

It must have been thrilling for him, Castiel thinks. So young and already included with the big boys, trusted with big news – _huge_ news – that no one else knew about. Samuel’s telling Sam that Michael was going to negotiate a marriage to solidify the arrangement between the nations, but that was obviously going to be a front for something far more sinister, they just needed to know what it is. What better role than for Sam to take the marriage himself, so they can stay close to the central action and be kept informed?

“Then why did you run?” Anna asks. “If marrying Castiel would’ve been beneficial to your movement?”

“It happened so fast. I mean, marrying a stranger for a cause sounds fine on paper, but once I was actually there it was… It felt wrong. _More_ wrong, because me and Cas weren’t even there for the same freaking cause and it made me realize how much of a fake I was. And I couldn’t even tell Dean about it! That was the worst part. He was trying so hard to make me feel better, and he didn’t even know why I was so upset.” Sam turns in his seat sharply. “Did you know? About Michael’s plans to invade?”

“No,” Castiel says. “Unfortunately.”

“You were a patsy? Great. Wonderful.” Sam lets out a long, slow breath. “I panicked, I guess. I thought that if I took myself out the entire thing would come to a halt.”

“So there wasn’t a girl?” Castiel asks.

Sam starts. “What?”

“Dean said he thought you left because there was a young lady involved,” Castiel says.

Sam’s mouth thins into a hard line. “There was. She was part of the movement. Said it was okay if I wanted to run, that the others would understand and find some other way to… whatever. She helped me get out of the city, brought me straight to Lucifer.” He doesn’t seem to want to elaborate on that any more, his eyes hard where he stares out of the windshield. “It made sense at the time.”

* * *

They make it to the apothecary without incident. The looping countryside roads they travel on are quiet, and this region is apparently of little enough interest that they don’t encounter any checkpoints. Not that Castiel knows this area at all – he may read the road signs, but the names mean little to him. Castiel pictures Uriel having to navigate this region on his own and the image is more amusing than ominous. With Sam’s trail gone cold, Castiel would wager that Uriel has returned to his master to ask for additional resources.

The only hitch in their way is that the purveyor of the apothecary isn’t particularly thrilled to help them. Although Sam stays in the car, the woman inside the store isn’t pleased to see Anna enter her doors with Castiel close by her, and even less pleased when she sees the list of items they wish to buy.

“This so does not work for me right now,” she says. “There are control items and then there are _control_ items, and the sheriffs have been coming round by—”

“Delta, I get it,” Anna says. “Just tell me if you can do it or not.”

The woman – Delta – is irritated at the ultimatum. “It’s not as simple as that. I’m going to have to report you.”

Castiel is a little perturbed by that, but Anna isn’t. “Are you, now?” Anna says.

“ _If_ they ask,” Delta says. “Though there’s no telling when that might happen. Does your friend need to creep out over there or can he wait outside?”

Castiel takes the hint and quietly excuses himself from the store. He returns to the car, and his sudden arrival causes Sam to fumble in his seat.

“Were you going through the glove compartment?” Castiel asks.

“I was just looking for…” Sam trails off. “Yes. Sorry.”

“That’s fine.” Anna might be a while, so Castiel makes himself at ease in the back seat, toeing off his shoes and pulling his legs up onto the vinyl. He can’t completely stretch out in here, but he can lean his head and shoulders against one corner and be reasonably comfortable. “We’re still strangers to you.”

“I could’ve just hotwired the car and taken it,” Sam says. “It’s right here.”

“Mm-hmm,” Castiel hums.

Sam turns in his seat, looking almost annoyed. “Is that all you’re gonna say?”

“Well, if you took the car, then Anna and I would just have to find some other means of transportation. Anna is resourceful and she knows the owner of the store, so it’s possible she can give us a ride. Anna will, of course, be very irritated with you because she is fond of this car, but I am not and I’m quite certain that she can afford something better at this point.”

Sam’s eyes drift over to the steering wheel and dashboard, then back to Castiel. “It is pretty old.”

“I have informed her of that.”

Sam’s next words come out as a rush: “Grandfather Samuel said that you’re a cold fish.”

Castiel blinks in surprise. “He’s not wrong.” Sam’s ears have gone a little pink, though it’s hard to tell if it’s because he’d used blunt language, or something else. There’s also an unexpected sense of a déjà vu, which prompts Castiel to say, “I unnerved your brother as well.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, he didn’t know what to make of me at first. So… whatever it is that has you rattled, you’re probably not alone in thinking it.”

Sam is quiet for a moment. “ _At first_ , you said?”

“We did spend almost a month together in the honeymoon house. There needs to be at least _some_ conversation, considering what a chatterbox Dean can be.”

“Under normal circumstances, sure,” Sam says. “But you gotta admit your situation wasn’t, um… it wasn’t Dean’s usual scene.”

It occurs to Castiel just then that Sam has not seen any of his immediate family for months. Mary, John, Dean – he’d left all of them behind before the wedding, before everything else. Dean’s descriptions of their nuclear family involved a great deal of affection and warmth, and if that is correct, then Sam must be starving now for scraps.

“No, but Dean is resilient,” Castiel says. He is gratified when Sam smiles in recognition. “And smart, capable and stubborn. I’d say that he would agree with Samuel that I can be a cold fish, but he wouldn’t do it in front of your grandfather. Just to be contrary.” Sam laughs, so Castiel continues, “Dean said that you – both of you and your parents – aren’t that close to the rest of the Campbells and Winchesters. That when your parents chose each other, the ties to the House became… strained.”

“Yeah, but that’s years ago,” Sam says. “Me and Dean grew up like that and it’s been fine, more than fine. But Grandpa Henry is a Man of Letters, right, so when I interned with them it was easy to get to know him, you know? From there it was just a little bit more to reach out to the Campbells and… wait. Dean _told_ you this? About our family?”

“I certainly couldn’t have learned about it through any other means.”

“I guess,” Sam says slowly.

“I do like the symbolism of the impala on your family crest,” Castiel says. “It’s very clever, and subtle in its true meaning to your family. I haven’t seen the car myself, but I’ve been told she’s beautiful. Dean said he’d like to take me for a ride one day, but… well. Here we are.”

Sam is still staring at him, his expression indecipherable. “Wow. Okay.”

“Oh,” Castiel says, “did they bring you news of your parents? The Campbells, I mean, since they were with you during your separation.”

Sam hesitates. “Some.”

“I’m sorry I can’t you give anything substantial,” Castiel says. “I saw your mother briefly at the Ilchester camp and Chambers House at the end of the honeymoon. We didn’t get to share any significant conversation, but she looked well. Your father wasn’t there, sadly.”

“Yeah, he was busy looking for me.” Sam laughs, and it is surely not right for Castiel to hear a tinge of bitterness in the sound.

Before Castiel can pursue that line of thought, there’s a tap at the window and the driver’s door is pulled open. Anna drops into the driver’s seat, and immediately pushes a paper bag towards Sam, who takes it. Said paper bag looks large enough to contain all the items on their fetch list, but Anna isn’t glowing with the success of a job well done.

“The fighting’s broken through the Howard Line,” Anna says. She twists the key in the ignition, starting up the engine. “We’ll need to hole up somewhere quick.”

“Fighting? What do you mean fighting?” Sam asks urgently. “Where?”

“We should move first,” Anna says.

* * *

While Anna drives, she talks. The news is so fresh that if they’d arrived at the apothecary an hour or so earlier, Delta would have been more agreeable. The fighting is still half a dozen counties away but it’s inching closer and the locals are feeling it.

The newspapers haven’t caught up with events yet, but word is out on the radio and TV. Since the radio in Anna’s car is barely functional, they have to wait until they find another motel to check in to. Sam is fidgety and anxious the entire drive, and once they find an appropriate stop and check into their brand new room, he heads straight for the complimentary television, switching it on and turning the volume up.

Sure enough, there are news bulletins on almost all the channels. Provocative movements, they say. Uncertain who struck first, they say. A college town has been taken, and there’re sightings of leashed dragons, though these aren’t confirmed just yet. Hunters are on the scene but who’s to say whose side are they on? There are mentions of names and places that mean little to Castiel, but they spark conversation between Anna and Sam, who immediately start discussing the strategic significance of the town.

“They need to cut off the supply lines to the capital,” Sam says. “That’s what he’s doing, except now he’s getting closer – this is one of the main highways.”

“But Lucifer doesn’t need to go to St. Lebanon, does he?” Anna asks. “He’s after Michael, who could be anywhere at this point.”

“But Lucifer would have access to more people, weaponry, spells,” Sam replies. “He could take control of Ellen or the rest of the Council, and force them to declare in his favor.”

While Sam and his sister discuss the new developments, Castiel begins preparations on Sam’s unbinding. The work is delicate but not difficult, so it’s easy enough to navigate the room in between their charged conversation, setting up materials on the table and lighting the candle that will have to function as a furnace for their purpose.

“He would’ve had better chance of that with you in his pocket,” Anna says. “He has to assume the worst.”

“I’m not that crucial,” Sam says ruefully. “I gave intel, but I don’t actually know all the details of his plans. Probably because he knew I’d never go as far as he wants me to.”

“Or he was grooming you,” Castiel says. “You may have been trying to manipulate him, but he was doing the same right back. He’d already isolated you from your family, and made it such that it was no longer easy for you to turn to them.”

A muscle twitches in Sam’s cheek, his gaze sharp when it lands on Castiel. Perhaps the comment was too precise, and as Castiel watches, Sam opens his mouth, as though to protest, but then closes it silently.

“I don’t mean that as an accusation of weakness,” Castiel clarifies. “I have been manipulated as well. It is not a good feeling to be made aware of it.”

“Cas,” Anna says softly. “Lucifer is one thing, but I’m sure Sam’s family situation is its own kind of complicated.”

“Oh,” Castiel says in surprise. “Yes, yes, of course, I didn’t mean…”

Sam sighs. “I know what you meant. I was already doing my own thing, long before this – _this_ – erupted. I should’ve managed that better, is all.”

Castiel gives Sam what he hopes is an apologetic look. Internally, Castiel has trouble understanding how complicated it could possibly be in the Winchester-Campbell family, seeing as no one’s tried to assassinate, exile, or usurp another other by force, but Castiel knows that’s only what he’s seen on the surface. Yet Sam has parents and a brother who love him, and surely that must make a great many things easier?

“Let’s start now,” Castiel says, gesturing at the table. Sam removes his shirts and sits down, arm laid out on the table top. “You can still talk, it’s all right.”

“What, to like, distract me from the pain?” Sam asks.

Castiel raises the small needle he’s been warming the candle fire. “Don’t tell me you’re as uncomfortable with needles as your brother is.”

Sam raises his eyebrows. “And why would you know that Dean dislikes needles?”

“He put his name in the official family tree,” Castiel says. “The process requires a small donation of blood, so he was quite jittery about the process.”

“Jittery,” Sam echoes.

Anna perks up, interested. “Whoa, really? Michael put Dean’s name in the tree? Hey, am _I_ still in the tree?”

“Yes, you’re still in the tree,” Castiel says. “You’re not actually disowned, Anna.”

“We can’t exactly assume these things,” Anna points out.

“You mean,” Sam says, “the traditional tapestry tree? Dean’s actually in it?”

“Yes,” Castiel says. “Michael wished to use Dean as a means of gaining foothold with the local Houses. I suppose it’s almost, but not exactly, the way that Lucifer wished to use you. Only instead of binding Dean to him directly, he’d used me as a proxy.”

“That’s messed up,” Sam says.

“Indeed. Now don’t move your arm so I may cleanly break the main lines.”

Sam nods and obeys, holding his arm straight and palm upwards. Using the sterilized blade, Castiel makes a neat cut on inside of Sam’s elbow, and positions his arm so that the blood falls onto the bowl nestled under his arm between folded towels

Sam picks up his easy conversation with Anna on what is being aired on the television, but he is far from flippant about what’s being done to him right now – or undone, as it were. Castiel’s head is down so he can focus on his work, but he can read Sam’s tension in the stiffness of his arm and fingers. This binding that Lucifer’s put on Sam is more than a promise to a prince – it’s also physical evidence of Sam’s making a stand against family expectation.

It isn’t at all a surprise when Sam sighs after the first line is broken. Castiel presses the needle against skin at one point after another, and each time waits for the faint glow of magic being released.

“You okay there?” Anna asks.

“Fine,” Sam says. “Um. Will Lucifer feel this? Like, right now?”

“Possibly,” Castiel says. “I don’t know. If he has a number of people bound to him, he might not be able to detect it until he’s actively searching for your presence.”

Sam is silent for a moment. “Did you break your binding?”

Castiel’s fingers don’t slip, but that’s because he’s a professional. “It’s partially broken, but not completely.”

“Oh. Um. Why not completely?”

“I don’t know, ask your brother.”

“Why would I ask—”

“ _I_ can’t possibly know why he hasn’t broken it. It’s not as though I have him on speed-dial.”

“Castiel,” Anna says. “Be careful.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Castiel says. There is one last point to break, which is the lower lock near the blood cut. Castiel drives the tip of the needle through the skin – the ink shimmers, Sam hisses, and Castiel sits back.

Anna approaches the table, close by Castiel’s shoulder. “It’s done?”

“Done. But he still needs to bleed for a little while more.”

“Swell,” Sam says.

“You should eat now,” Castiel says. “And we’ll need to watch you for a few hours, in case you get a fever from the recoil.”

There’s a rustle behind Castiel where Anna is going through their supplies. “Apple, granola bars, chocolate…?”

“I’ll take the apple,” Sam says. “Thanks. Uh, to you as well, Castiel. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Castiel blows the candle out. “I need to wash these. Very dangerous to leave traces of yourself on such things, especially since I don’t have proper bleach with me.” He rises to his feet, arms full with the used equipment, and heads for the bathroom.

That went pretty smoothly, all things considered. As Castiel plugs the drain and starts filling the sink with water, he wonders that Lucifer didn’t use a more extreme oath binding. Perhaps Lucifer felt that he didn’t need to. There are many ways to trap a person, a great many of which do not involve magic at all. This is good. The situation is still fraught and the fighting may have restarted, but this has a chance of turning the tide, whether sooner or later.

The water’s running and the television is still playing, but those noises are not so loud that Castiel can’t make out the conversation going on outside the bathroom.

“I’m going to have to go back now, aren’t I?” Sam asks.

“That’s up to you,” Anna replies.

“There’s nothing stopping me anymore. Besides my pride.”

“And a very reasonable fear of how people may treat you when you return. Emotions are running high, and there’s no assurance that anyone will listen to you. There’s nothing wrong in putting your safety first. But what do I know, I’m as selfish as it gets.”

“Because you left home?” Sam asks.

There’s a pause, and Castiel nudges the door a little, widening the gap just enough that he can hear Anna’s soft: “—says that he doesn’t hold a grudge, and I… But that’s nothing to do with you, what am I talking about? Sam, I don’t know your family, I can’t imagine the complexity of your position.”

“It’s not _that_ complex.”

“It’s complex enough that you have family on just about every side that exists.”

Castiel turns off the tap. The sudden silence of the bathroom is mirrored by the conversational silence outside. The TV newscaster offers their opinion that the college town is lost, but civilians should not worry as the authorities are already amassing an appropriate response.

“Eat up,” Anna says. “You’re already looking pretty pale.”

Sam laughs. “You’re not the boss of me.”

There’s no one to see it, but Castiel smiles.

* * *

It should feel claustrophobic with the three of them packed in this motel room, but it isn’t. They leave the television on, and although the news hasn’t improved by much, it’s clear that with the pendulum of fighting swinging one way down the coast, there are other areas in the country that will be glad to no longer suffer a spotlight. The more Castiel listens to Anna and Sam speak, the better he understands why some locations are more strategic than others, what kinds of House rivalries exist on the Continent, and what kind of travel options someone staying under the radar can use.

It is a decent way to spend the otherwise non-productive hours waiting. They eat their meals, deal with laundry, watch the news. No one knocks at their door, and the few times that vehicles pass by the motel, Anna watches between the curtains and confirms that there’s a complete and utter lack of interest in their presence here.

There is one point late in the day, when Castiel is watching Anna and Sam argue over the veracity of a new bulletin, he realizes that this – as tenuous and strange it may be – is a familial gathering. It’s not as though he’s forgotten Sam’s link to himself (and through him, to Anna), but it only just then fully registers that Sam, his brother-in-law, is meeting his sister and closest relative. This is the kind of family meeting he would’ve preferred to have, if his marriage were a real one, and he and Dean were to introduce the other to the person in the world that they love most.

“They’re just not competent enough for that!” Sam’s saying. His voice is raised, but not in anger. “You know what they call that? Conspiracy theories.”

“Is it a theory if we know that similar conspiracies do exist?” Anna counters. “We know there were concerted efforts to make your absence politically advantageous.”

“Yeah, but that’s when there’s one part in control of the narrative,” Sam replies, “and barely anyone’s got that right now.”

A chill passes through Castiel’s body. It’s not born of sadness, exactly – it’s more like some accidental glance sideways into a world that might have been. The breaking of Sam’s binding may be today’s small victory, but Castiel decides right then and there that Sam and Anna’s getting along is another victory in itself.

Dean would have liked Anna, Castiel thinks. He definitely would’ve liked her far more than the other relatives of Castiel’s that he’s met. And as for Sam, Castiel is glad to see glimpses of the man he is when not under immeasurable stress. He is witty, bright and charmingly sarcastic at times, and far more animated than the closed-off young man he first met all those months ago.

There is no point in regretting the circumstances that have brought them there today, but Castiel cannot help but regretting, just a little bit.

“What?” Sam says.

Castiel realizes he’s been staring, and hastily averts his gaze. “Nothing. I’m just… I think we could be good friends, if things were… different.”

It’s an overly-sentimental statement, for sure. Sam’s expression softens a little, almost bashfully, but on the other side of the table Anna’s mouth quirks into a smirk.

“You can be friends _now_ , just the way things are,” Anna says. “Come on.”

“I’m expressing some feelings here,” Castiel protests, laughter bubbling in his chest. “You could, perhaps, give that the respect that it deserves.”

“Wow,” Sam says. “Okay, I’m getting the hang of this.”

“The hang of what?”

“Both of you.” Sam points between Anna and Castiel, apparently referring to both of them. “That’s sibling banter.”

“You’re ruining the magic by breaking it down thusly,” Castiel says.

Sam snickers under his breath. “And that sounds like…. Um. Never mind. So did the breaking go all right? Am I in the clear or what?”

It isn’t possible to be a hundred percent positive, but Sam doesn’t show any signs of the usual side effects of an oath breaking, which is good. By sundown, the ink of his tattoo starts to fade as well, and Sam starts looking at the television newscasts more contemplatively, as though pondering his next move. They’re not going to stay in this motel forever, and honestly, Castiel does want to get back to the Gas-n-Sip. Who knows what state Nora’s shelves are in right now?

But for that to happen, someone has to make the first move. Castiel isn’t going to do it, and judging from Anna’s surprisingly patient watching of Sam, it isn’t going to be her either.

At dinnertime, they finally switch the television off. Not so much for the comfort of eating in silence, but because it’s time for Dean’s nightly broadcast. Castiel unpacks the food Anna’s procured for them, while Anna and Sam fiddle with the motel’s radio, Anna describing the frequency that they need to tune in.

Then there’s Dean’s voice, loud and clear. “ _Evening y’all, let’s get right down to it. If you haven’t heard, there’s plenty of movement today, so we’re gonna break it down nice and easy for ya._ ”

Listening to the broadcast is a ritual by now. The radio sits alone on its pedestal, Castiel checks his Walkman’s batteries before setting it to record, and Anna opens her notebook to a fresh page.

While waiting out the static Castiel’s mind settles down into calmness, as though the tangle of his thoughts are set aside for the moment, leaving the rest of him open and focused on receiving. There will be time for analysis later; for now Castiel is a passive receptacle for Dean’s voice.

Dean would probably be discomfited by the notion. He’d protest, _I report the news and talk bullshit for twenty minutes, Cas, that’s all_. Castiel would reply that no, that’s not all that he does. By listening to these transmissions, Castiel is able to feel that no matter how inconsequential or useless he is, and how massive the upheaval in the rest of the world, there are decent people out there trying to make things better.

Then there’s Sam, who now looks as enraptured as Castiel is.

“ _So it’s a mess,_ ” Dean’s saying, _“they got that right, but like most messes no one’s taking the credit for starting it in the first place. As far as I can tell, and I fully admit that I could be wrong…_ ”

He confirms that there was a skirmish earlier today over some new territory. One of Michael’s ships docked at some college town, following a lead that Lucifer’s hideout was somewhere nearby, only it might or might not have been a trap? Dean sounds as bewildered as Castiel feels, except angrier, because he doesn’t seem to know as much about the situation as he normally does. Perhaps he doesn’t have as many effective sources in this area?

“ _As of twenty-five minutes ago everything’s still quiet— oh wait, gimme a sec_ …” There’s a muffled sound, as though Dean’s covering his microphone. “ _Okay, breaking news, the local sheriff has just taken control of the town hall and sent out a distress call. The hunter coalition hasn’t moved from their camp just outside town, but they’ve sent someone in. A messenger, maybe, or a hostage negotiator? It’s hard to say at this point. The lights have gone up on the roof of one of the college buildings, we’re not sure which one, but that’s probably a call for reinforcements. For which side, you ask? It is a mystery to us all. Uh… I’m sorry boys and girls, I won’t be able to give y’all a live commentary._ ”

Sam makes a small, frustrated noise. His eyes are closed, and he’s pressing his fingers to his temple.

“ _So you’re better off keeping your eyes, ears and other channels open. Yes, the Handyman is legitimately telling you to do that. Stay safe, good night_.”

Castiel opens his mouth to comment, but Sam gets there first with, “I have to make contact.”

“Ah,” Anna says, looking up from her notebook. “Something I can do.”

“No, I mean…” Sam scratches the bandages of his arm, before realizing what he’s doing and stops. “I need to make contact with someone I trust. Someone I know isn’t working for Lucifer, or… for the Council. Or for any of the Houses that are in league with Michael.”

“That’s a pretty narrow spectrum,” Anna observes.

“Do you mean your parents?” Castiel says.

“Or Dean,” Anna says.

Castiel chooses not to read any additional meaning in the way Anna said that name. Instead, Castiel turns to Sam with, “It was my understanding that Bobby, Victor and Jo are close allies of your immediate family.”

Anna pipes up, “These the same Bobby, Victor and Jo that locked you up?”

“They thought they were doing the right thing,” Castiel replies.

Anna scoffs. “Michael and Lucifer think they’re doing the right thing.”

Sam looks mildly horrified. “They locked you up? They’ll lock _me_ up!”

“No, no, that’s different, I’m a foreigner,” Castiel says quickly. “It was a misunderstanding, and they thought I was in cahoots with Michael, which all things considered was a decent conclusion to reach.”

“Yeah, well,” Sam says, “everyone thinks _I’m_ in cahoots with Lucifer.”

“Your brother doesn’t,” Castiel says. “He’ll protect you, and he’ll listen to you, whatever it is you have to say. You know that, at least.”

“But that’s ‘cause he has blinders as thick as… his head.”

“Which will be to your advantage in this case,” Castiel insists. “There is simply too much misinformation going around, and not enough opportunities to set the record straight. It is _frustrating_ , and we are not even in the thick of it.”

Sam doesn’t look convinced, but Castiel doesn’t want to push any harder than that. Sam seems like the kind of person who will only respond to a certain amount of pushing, and Castiel is hardly an expert in estimating that kind of soft skill. Anna, who would usually offer something at this point, is silent.

“It’d have to be in person,” Sam says eventually. “I can’t send a message. Anyone can send a message and make it look real.”

“So what would you like to do?” Anna asks.

Sam exhales slowly, eyes closed. For a moment Castiel reads that as defeat, but then Sam’s shaking his head, rolling his shoulders, and then opening his eyes into a dark scowl.

“I need to find a hunter’s safehouse,” he says. “One belonging to someone I… someone on the list you just mentioned.”

“Do you know any in this region?” Anna asks.

“No,” Sam says. “Which means I’ll need travel papers.”

Anna grins. “Excellent. Something else I can do.”

* * *

It is a highly interesting detour, but still just a detour. Castiel cannot assist Sam any further on this matter, so it’s up to Anna to carry the baton forward. She rises to the occasion, hashing out a new route that will allow her to drop Castiel as close as possible to Rexford, and then continue on with her new charge to where he might find allies.

“You trust me to be able to find my way back safely?” Castiel asks.

“I trust you to know I will be grievously hurt if you do not,” Anna says. “It will take some effort to get Sam past the checkpoints. We will have to cut through the mountains, move westward to the other highways.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Castiel says. “Both of you, I’m confident.”

They decide that there’s no need to wait for sunrise before moving. There may be a fresh bout of fighting going on right this minute, but there will always be something going on somewhere in the country for the foreseeable future.

While Anna is out settling their room at the motel’s reception, Sam and Castiel clear up the room as well as they can, making sure that all traces of Sam’s presence and procedure are packed or destroyed.

When they’re mostly done, Sam ends up hovering in the middle of the room. He’d been quite serious while planning his next steps forward with Anna, but now appears oddly hesitant. “Uh, hey.”

“I think that’s it,” Castiel says. “Unless you want to check the bathroom one more time.”

“No, um. I was wondering…” Sam pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. “Would you like me to send a message to Dean?”

 A jolt rushes up Castiel’s spine. An impossible door is suddenly swung open in his face, which makes him feel almost dizzy. Well, dizzy and chilled in his extremities, though these are sensations he associates with embarrassment and he’s quite certain there is no reason to be embarrassed. Sam isn’t even looking directly at him, for his eyes are cast slightly off to the side, as though he, too, expects Castiel to be embarrassed.

“You don’t know for sure that you’re going to be able to see Dean,” Castiel says eventually.

“Sure,” Sam agrees, “but I _might_ , and if I _do_ , I could pass a message. Just… you know.”

“Yes.” Castiel nods rapidly. “Yes, I see.”

“We’ve got quite a drive, I think, before Anna has to drop you off, so you can, um… You can think about it and write something down, I guess? Oh my god, _look_.” Sam is suddenly in Castiel’s face, making him jump. Sam’s eyes are wide and earnest and mildly disturbed. “The—the stories ‘bout you and Dean, they’re not actually true, right?”

“What stories?” Castiel says.

“You know, the… the PR.” Sam flails a little, helplessly. “That you and Dean met how many years ago when you were young, and there was – it was all very sad ‘cause you couldn’t be together, except fate had other plans and – oh my god, was it all _true_?”

“No, no!” Castiel says quickly. “That was all fiction. Naomi’s idea, most of it, to rewrite the story of the arrangement into something that would be most useful to the cause.”

“Oh.” Sam seems unsure whether to be relieved or disappointed. Or maybe that’s just what he looks like when faced with someone who’s behaving erratically for no reason whatsoever. Sam squints at Castiel. “So you guys did meet for the first time that day at the hotel?”

“Oh. Uh, not exactly.” Castiel laughs nervously. “It’s… You know, you should ask Dean about it. When you see him again.”

“Okay,” Sam says slowly.

Behind him the door opens. Anna returns with perfect timing and a readiness to leave.

A few hours in Anna’s car seem a perfectly reasonable timeframe for Castiel to compose something. The first few relatively quiet hours where Castiel drives – and Anna is his navigator – are ideal for rummaging around his brain for something worthwhile to commit to paper.

He doesn’t need to tell Dean that he’s fine, because Dean will be meeting Sam. Sam will explain the circumstances of their meeting, that Castiel has been staying safely with Anna, along with Castiel and Anna’s physical condition, if Dean so inquires. What else is there to report on? Castiel’s day-to-day activities are either mundane (Castiel enjoys his work at the Gas-n-Sip, but it would certainly pale in interest compared to Dean’s activities) or sensitive (Anna’s work may be tangential, but is still important for their people).

Dean is so busy, and no doubt his time is precious. Castiel should offer something useful. Encouragement, perhaps? Yes, encouragement and supports for Dean’s efforts. That is far less self-centered.

By the time Anna takes over the steering wheel, Castiel is slightly more prepared. He settles into the passenger seat, his notebook in his lap. Anna is alert and caffeinated, while in the back seat Sam is fast asleep.

Castiel opens to a fresh page, and then changes his mind and switches to a page that has a sketch along the margin. Dean might be amused by the drawing, Castiel thinks.

 _Dean,_ Castiel starts, because everything else is too familiar or formal, _if you are reading this, you have been reunited with your brother, and I am glad for it._

God, his handwriting is terrible. It’s a mostly straight road they’re on, too, so Castiel can’t even blame the vibrations of the car.

_I have done my best to help him, and hope that he has found you in good health and spirits. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more._

Oh dear, he’s already gone self-effacing. Castiel makes a face at the paper, and then puts the pen to the lower left hand corner of the paper, quickly sketching out a rough version of the Winchester impala badge. It helps moderate his thoughts.

 _Anna and I have been listening to your nightly transmissions, which are a beacon of comfort in these troubled times. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be where you are, but please know that your efforts are appreciated – not just by us, but by the entire nation. You mentioned once that you have your good days and your bad days. I hope that our gratitude will be enough to carry you forward a little on your bad days. Knowing that I may hear your voice every night_ —

Castiel pauses, and then inserts a small ‘ _almost’_ between ‘ _voice_ ’ and ‘ _every_ ’.

— _is a precious gift. We did not part on perfect terms, and I regret my part in that. I have hope that_

He has hope that what? That Dean remembers him? Or thinks about him sometimes? Or will want to see him again someday? Castiel’s answer is a definite YES to all the above, but that’s hardly appropriate for writing down in this manner. Castiel wants to be able to say such things out loud and read Dean’s reaction off his face.

All Castiel can accomplish with a letter is remind Dean of his presence. That would leave the door open, even if just a little, to other things. In the future.

Castiel sighs. It’s far easier to be blunt in person. Or in a scientific journal. This is just ridiculous.

To hell with it then. If Dean’s uncomfortable, let him be uncomfortable. Where did Castiel stop writing? Ah, yes.

_I have hope that I may see you again one day to make that right. It is a pleasant goal to think about._

Castiel stares at that last sentence. Is that too much? It is too much. Not to mention that, in his anxiousness, he’d forgotten that not too long ago Dean had at least started to remove their marriage tattoo. Castiel has no idea what Dean’s current state of mind is, and he has been very wrong in his expectations of Dean in the past. So what if Dean’s last goodbye to Castiel had included a declaration of feelings? Dean could have just as easily forgotten about it, or outgrown it, or been wrong about himself. (He wouldn’t lie, though. There was nothing to be gained by lying.)

This is still vexing.

Castiel scribbles out the next part quickly: _This is assuming that you would be amenable to such a meeting. If you aren’t, ignore all of the above. Additionally, you don’t need my permission to break the bond completely, I respect and accept any decision you make on the matter._

That’s about all he can muster. Castiel quickly rips the page out and folds it again and again and again into a small square, as tight as he can manage. He didn’t sign off the missive, but he doesn’t really need to, since Sam will confirm to Dean that it’s from him. It’s a pity he doesn’t have a seal to shut it properly, but he can deal with Sam choosing to read it, if he wants. There’s nothing too private in there, anyway.

Castiel falls asleep somewhere in the middle of his fretting, and wakes up when they’re close to the county line. This area is familiar even in the dark, and Castiel should be able to make the final trek up through the local hiking trail before daybreak.

“You remember the 45 mile point?” Anna asks.

“Yes, that should be fine,” Castiel says. “You will call me once you’re able.”

“Of course.”

Sam is awake when Anna brings the car to an idle stop by the side of the road. The quiet mountain roads are dark this early in the morning, but Castiel is confident of his ability to navigate his way back. He hopes that Nora has been managing sufficiently without him.

While Castiel rummages through the trunk for his bag, Anna and Sam lean against the side of the car and talk softly about where they’ll be going next. They’re both intelligent, they’ll figure something out. Sam will be among allies again, and perhaps the wheels of their nations’ fortune will turn again.

“Sam.” Castiel steps towards him and hands his letter over. “That’s for your brother.”

“Cool.” Sam’s hands swallow up the small square of folded paper, which at least means that Castiel cannot take it back and do something foolish such as eating it to destroy the evidence. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

Castiel scowls. “He’ll laugh at it.”

“He laughs at me all the time, it’ll be fine.” Sam smiles a little, as though he’s trying to be encouraging. “It was really nice meeting you. Meeting you _again_ , I mean, and under better circumstances – okay, maybe not _better_ , but…”

“Honest circumstances, you mean,” Castiel says, and Sam ducks his head in bashful agreement. “Yes. I’m glad as well. But your journey hasn’t reached its conclusion yet. Travel safe, both of you.”

“You, too,” Anna says. “I’ll see you in a few days. If anyone asks where I am, tell them I’ve been detained behind a checkpoint.”

“Will do.”

There’s no need for prayer or hugs. Sam flares his hand in an awkward wave, while Anna nods solemnly at Castiel in acknowledgement. Their farewells performed adequately, Castiel slings his bag over his shoulder and starts walking up the path, only sparing a glance back when the car rattles off down the road.

* * *

It’s easy to slip back into his daily Rexford routine. He apologizes to Nora, who insists that she understands and surreptitiously informs him that a number of other townsfolk have made their exit in response to the latest round of fighting, so Castiel is actually notable for coming _back_. Then there are the things that needed managing in Anna’s cottage – there’s a small backlog of communication and a few concerned messages on her answering machine.

It’s no hardship for Castiel to hold the fort over the next few days until Anna finally returns late one night, tired but glad and bursting at the seams with descriptive tales of how _hectic_ the main highways are. It had been much easier to get Sam through than expected, she says, because of the sheer flood of refugees passing through the bottleneck towns.

“I tried to convince him to shave his head,” Anna says, “but he wasn’t into that.”

“How close did you get him to his goal?” Castiel asks.

“Pretty damn close,” Anna says, pleased with herself. “Almost right up to the front doorstep, just to make sure.”

That is excellent _._ This small success fills Castiel with a warm glow of satisfaction that does not dim over the days that follow. Castiel may have been helping Anna with her communication network, but that is _Anna’s_ success. Getting Sam away from Uriel (and by proxy, Lucifer) is Castiel’s. He is useful.

It’s not as though Castiel wants to throw off his civilian trappings and chase wild heroics. He genuinely does enjoy the simplicity of the Gas-n-Sip, the quiet tasks at Anna’s side and the constant keeping his ears open for changes in the news. But he had a hand in helping _Sam_ , which atones a little for Castiel’s past apathy.

Perhaps this says something about Castiel’s state of mind. Sam’s anger and sense of helplessness is familiar; in assuaging it, Castiel is assuaging his own.

Of course, this then brings Castiel’s thoughts back to Dean. If all goes well, Sam will be meeting him again and the brothers will be each other’s champion. Dean will be so thrilled. After all those weeks and months of anxiety – plus all those times in Joshua House where Castiel could not do much more than insist that Dean not give up hope – Dean will at last be made content. Castiel imagines it and the warmth in his chest grows further.

So life in Rexford continues as it has since Castiel arrived, with the addition that during his nightly sit-downs with Anna in front of the radio, Castiel now tries to analyze Dean’s voice for some hint that Sam has made contact with him. It’s surprisingly difficult, because there isn’t much good news for Dean to share of late, and his moments of levity sound more tired than not. Still, Castiel keeps listening and re-listening to his recordings, trying to pull apart Dean’s delivery and searching for some subtle tell.

Castiel is very glad of Sam’s gaining his freedom for his own sake, but it’s also true that Dean deserves a break. Castiel wants that for Dean so much, and it’s distressing that he can’t tell from the broadcasts whether it’s happened. Castiel hopes that it’s merely Dean keeping his professionalism for the sake of the transmission.

Truth be told, Castiel can’t imagine Dean being able to contain his joy so effectively, but it’s more troubling to think that Sam never made it there. Maybe Sam’s merely delayed, or Dean is somewhere difficult for him to access. There are so many factors out of their control.

So Castiel listens repeatedly to his recordings, sometimes in the privacy of his room, and tries to picture Dean’s happiness. The passing of time means that it’s getting more difficult to remember Dean’s smile – Anna’s old magazines don’t count, for they pale against the real thing – but Castiel does his best to revive the memory in his imagination. (If he touches himself while he’s imagining, no one has to know.)

Eventually, confirmation of Sam’s safe journey does arrive, and Castiel turns out to be correct –Dean cannot conceal that level of exultation.

This particular night, he is busy dealing with the night shift instead of sitting in front of the radio in Anna’s cottage with his sister. Castiel’s alone minding the store, as usual, Nora having gone home a few hours ago.

Generally, customer traffic hasn’t changed much in volume. Castiel does miss the schoolchildren who used to pass through more often – Nora says parents are telling their kids to head straight home now, which is understandable. The fighting may not be on Rexford’s front door but there’s a feeling of its impending encroachment, and people respond accordingly. Where schoolchildren no longer bother Castiel about the smoothie machine, there are more refugees heading into the hills, and more preoccupied hunters passing through for supplies.

The frequency of hunters coming through also leaves Castiel somewhat desensitized. Oh, he’s still on alert, and is mindful to keep his face averted and voice down, but he no longer jumps at the sight of a hunter’s badge. Taking the night shift almost always means having to deal with hunters, so it’s best to just roll with it.

Sure enough, an unfamiliar jeep comes rolling in just around the time that Dean’s broadcast is starting. Castiel would switch it off immediately, but Dean hasn’t been on the air the past two nights – the same lady from earlier has been his replacement, and she’d only said that the Handyman is ‘busy’. So tonight Castiel leaves Nora’s radio on to a low volume, and exhales with relief at Dean’s opening of, “ _Seems like it’s true, there’s a complete communication lockdown from the Isles, though we’re not sure what that means for Em and Elle at the moment._ ”

The customer – a woman – exits her vehicle, but it’s only to look at the price signage at the gas pump. There’s another local customer browsing the shelves, but they’re far away enough that Castiel feels no need to turn the radio off completely.

So Dean’s voice remains a relatively faint background noise while Castiel sits placidly at the cashier. Castiel’s listening, but not with his full focus – that will come later with his Walkman, as usual. He picks up a few keywords here and there, noting that there are more oddities in the conflict and something something movement to St. Lebanon and a call for referendum.

Then Dean’s chatter stops. Castiel frowns and turns worriedly to the radio, wondering if the transmission has ended earlier than usual. Then Dean coughs, a surprisingly static-heavy sound that rattles through the speakers.

“ _So… yeah, that’s pretty much it for updates tonight. I literally do not have anything else to share. If you’re hoping for more dirt-dishing, you’re better off tuning back in tomorrow. But, uh, yeah, I got another ten -ish minutes and… if you’re looking for more news, this isn’t it._ ”

The local comes up to the counter with a handful of larger water canisters. Castiel checks him out quickly, while in the background Dean is saying, “ _No one gave me this gig so it’s not like I got a guidebook, but I do have my own rules, mostly so y’all know I’m not all about the bullshit. Yeah, I try not to bring my crap in here, but…what do you know, tonight I really_ am _all about the bullshit. There is nothing interesting in what I’m about to say, so feel free to turn off the radio and do something useful._ ”

The doorbell tinkles when the customer leaves. Outside, the hunter is pumping gas into her vehicle. Castiel carefully raises the radio’s volume a notch.

“ _Look, this is a rough patch for everyone. Families split up, people displaced, and it sucks big time, I’m not discounting any of that. But a couple days ago I got to square something I was afraid I’d never have the chance to. And it got me thinking ‘bout other scores still hangin’. Such as, uh, such as this – wait, no. Do over! Hey Emmanuel, you listening in tonight?_ ”

Castiel’s breath catches.

“ _One of the many crappy things going on right now is that communication’s busted just about everywhere. But then I heard from someone I thought I might never hear from again. And what does the fu—what does he do? Doesn’t say a freaking thing ‘bout how he is, if he’s okay, if he’s safe, like what the hey! And not even a peep if he’s still mad at me, which has been bugging me for weeks – months! And now I’m mad at him, except... not really. I get it. With the situation being what it is, we tend to focus on what’s important to us right here and now. And to him, what’s important was letting me know that he digs my being a big mouth on this station every night. Big whoop._ ”

Castiel pinches the webbing between his left thumb and forefinger, just to check that this is not a fevered dream.

“ _So here it is. I’ve had plenty of time to think about it, and what’s important to_ me _right now is to let him know that it wasn’t all an act. I hate that when we had to split up, he left thinking that I’m a liar, and that I was putting on a front ‘cause of the messed up situation we were in. But it wasn’t like that. When it was just the two of us, there was no front. There was just me, in over my head, and you, the one who didn’t even notice what a loser I am. There, I said it. Hah! Come see me, man. It’s all wolves and guns from here on out, would be great._ ”

Castiel strains to listen for more, but there’s just a beep, followed by static.

The store’s sudden silence is stifling. Castiel turns the radio off but there’s still static – it takes him a moment to realize that’s just his ears buzzing.

Castiel’s hands are clumsy when he rummages under the counter for his Walkman. It takes a few tries for him to stop its recording, even. If his hands are so unreliable, perhaps his ears are as well. He has been listening so closely to Dean’s voice over the past weeks that he might have finally caused his mind to substitute new words into what’s actually being said. He’s read about that phenomenon somewhere.

The store’s door swings open, the hunter finally stepping inside to pay for their gas. Castiel sits up to do his job, and the transaction moves swiftly and smoothly. Castiel has another hour and a half before closing up.

It is an hour and a half that Castiel could fill by listening back to Dean’s broadcast. Except that’s easier said than done – Castiel can physically rewind the cassette, but his fingers have trouble pressing the play button. Listening to the recording will confirm reality, and Castiel thinks it may be more enjoyable to linger in the fantasy for a while longer.

The fantasy involves Dean missing him. But in Castiel’s other fantasies Dean is not so angry about it, and he definitely sounded angry on the radio. Maybe not outright wrathful, but frustrated. Castiel hadn’t thought about Dean being frustrated.

There are a handful of customers through the rest of the shift, and then there’s the cleaning up and closing up. The Walkman stays on the counter, where it taunts him. It continues to taunt him from his pocket on the way back to Anna’s cottage.

Anna is still up when Castiel gets there. She’s in the sitting room, a mug of what smells like tea in one hand, and she glances up at Castiel before returning to her reading.

“Long day?” Anna asks.

“It was average,” Castiel says as he peels off his outer jacket. “Did you listen to tonight’s broadcast?”

Anna makes a distracted sound, still focused as she is on her book. “Did you?”

“Partially,” Castiel admits. “I will go and listen to it properly now.”

“You do that.” Anna takes a sip of her drink as Castiel starts to move towards the back. “ _Emmanuel_.”

It is possible that if Anna had dragged that pause out a second or two more, Castiel would have run into a wall. As it is, Castiel does not run into anything, or stub his toe on anything. He retains his dignity, and turns towards his sister with his chin up and says, “What was that?”

“Dean’s talking about you, isn’t it?” Anna says. “You’re Emmanuel.”

“You don’t know that.”

Anna’s eyes slowly lift from her book and trap Castiel where he stands. For his part, Castiel does not flinch. Anna sighs. “Are you telling me it’s not you?”

“ _I_ am not positive that it’s me,” Castiel says. “So how can _you_ be positive that it’s me?”

“Well, he’s obviously talking about your note,” Anna says.

Castiel scowls. “You read my note?”

“No, I didn’t read your note, but I do know how to infer.” Anna raises her mug incrementally, as though offering a toast to Castiel’s internal flailing. “Sam and I had quite some time to kill during our drive. There was plenty of inference to be made.”

Castiel feels – he doesn’t know he feels. Betrayed, a little. Ashamed, a little. Yet, he is also curious. Castiel knows that he is a strange duck, as Balthazar used to call him. What makes sense in his head doesn’t necessarily makes sense to someone standing ten feet away. He knows that he has been unfair with Anna about the whole issue of Dean – which is a non-issue, really, because there are so many more far more important things to deal with in the world, so there’s no point wasting time and energy talking about it.

Anna’s gaze is very steady.

“What are your conclusions?” Castiel asks.

“You say that Dean never hurt you,” Anna says. “I would like to believe that, yet you behave like—”

“Both of us made mistakes,” Castiel insists. “ _Both_ of us. It doesn’t even matter anymore. We were pawns, and pawns on top being pawns, and that – just thinking about that makes me so angry. Then I get angry at myself for being angry, because what’s happened since then is far bigger than my own petty grudges.”

Anna doesn’t look impressed, but she shrugs. “All right.”

“All right?” Castiel echoes.

“Whatever it is you’re scared of is your own business.”

Castiel scowls. “I’m not _scared_.”

“You have feelings for this person, against your own judgment and despite the manipulative circumstances that brought you together. Now he’s asking you on a radio channel that’s listened to by how many people – thousands? Tens of thousands? – to come and see him, because he misses you. That sounds kinda scary.”

“That – no, he didn’t – that wasn’t...” Castiel trails off. He knows he should not be thinking of Dean so much. They parted ways weeks ago, and that’s more than enough time for the ache to ease up. Castiel’s needs are few, and this is by _choice_ , because to need is to open yourself to weakness. “If I say it out loud it becomes real. I can barely handle it existing in my own head.”

“We all have our defenses,” Anna says.

“I let my guard down and Michael, Naomi, Zachariah – they used it. I can’t let that happen again.”

“Castiel,” Anna says, angry now, “if you’re staying with me, in this place I know you don’t care for, in order to _punish_ yourself, I will slap you silly.”

“You will not, physical reprimands are not your style.”

“Oh, so you _do_ consider this exile your punishment?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Castiel!”

“I want to go to him,” Castiel blurts out. “I do. If only just to... know where he stands. I think if I could have a new memory of him, even if just a short one, I would be content. Yes. I’d be content, because then I would be _sure._ ”

Anna still looks angry, but it doesn’t seem to be directed at him. After a long moment she sighs, shakes her head, and leans back in her chair. For a moment she seems much older than she actually is. “We’re fucked up, aren’t we?”

Castiel considers this. “Just a little, I think.”

* * *

Castiel’s plan is to listen to the recording once he’s had a good night’s sleep and cleared his head, but that doesn’t work out. He caves when he’s still knee-deep in tumultuous second-guessing, and pulls the Walkman into bed with him late into the night.

Thusly, he confirms that the broadcast did happen. Dean did say those things, and used the fake name that Castiel himself once used. Dean’s voice is usually level, but last night took a harder, almost desperate edge towards the end of the broadcast.

It is best for Castiel to keep his expectations level and low, for his and Dean’s relationship – whatever it may be – doesn’t consist of just the two of them. There is baggage attached, and that baggage will remain as long as they are who they are, i.e. Michael’s cousin and the son of a noble House, from neighboring nations.

Castiel’s hopes would be more uncontrollable if he didn’t notice that there’s another message inside Dean’s broadcast. Repeated listenings of the playback makes the strangeness of Dean’s closing more obvious – ‘it’s all wolves and guns from here on out’? It’s an odd sign-off, even for Dean.

The next morning when Castiel gets up, it’s to find Anna and tell her, “I think Dean gave me instructions on how to find him.”

Anna is in the motion of twisting her hair into a braid. She goes still at Castiel’s statement, and then starts twisting again. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

“Of course I did,” Castiel says defensively. “How many times can one person listen to a half-hour recording? Really.”

“Last night’s brew is still in the fridge,” Anna says.

“Excellent.” Castiel retrieves the drip coffee from the refrigerator, and pours out a shot each for both of them. “But don’t you think that’s irresponsible? He knows it’s not safe for me. That I have removed myself from the equation.”

“It wasn’t safe for you when your marriage was on the playing board,” Anna says. “The focus has shifted since then. And quite significantly.”

“That may be true, but there’s no shying away from the fact that I am a traitor.”

“So’s Sam,” Anna says. “He went back into the fold anyway.”

“That’s different.” Castiel takes a quick sip of the coffee. It is good. “It’s very different. Dean will protect Sam.”

There’s a clatter when Anna drops her brush on the countertop. She whirls on Castiel, her eyes round and disbelieving. “Are you listening to yourself? I know you’re sleep-deprived, but honestly. If Dean invited you to see him – and _if_ he is as intelligent as you say he is – he would have taken your safety into consideration.”

Castiel’s face burns. Or that might just be the coffee improving his blood circulation. Dean implied that Sam arrived a few days before the broadcast, so he must have had time to think about what to say once he returned to his radio duties. It cannot have been a spur-of-the-moment decision to speak, at least not entirely. He must know the limitations of Castiel’s movement.

“Unless it’s a trap,” Castiel says.

Anna frowns. “Do you think it’s a trap?”

“If it is, then it’s not a very good one. He made no threats, no promises.” Castiel is quite certain that he isn’t valuable anymore. He could be traded to Michael, but he doubts the king cares about exacting justice on him in particular, when there are too many much higher-ranking traitors for him to focus his righteousness on. (Uriel must be but one among dozens, or even hundreds.)

That said, all Castiel has to go on is faith.

But what does he truly know of Dean? It seems far too late to be thinking about this _now_ , when Castiel’s well and truly fallen head over heels, but he must consider this. Dean is... Dean is protective of his family. He is passionate, stubborn, occasionally self-righteous to the point of being annoying. He is rude, sweet, crass, thoughtful. He sometimes cannot see beyond the end of his nose. He is disgusted at things that Castiel takes for granted as being the way of the world. He tries his best, even when the odds are against him. He is as vulnerable to being used as Castiel is.

He could find Castiel easily, if he so wanted. He already has enough information – he should know via Sam what Castiel and Anna look like and where they crossed paths, and with that he can canvass the surrounding area quickly and effectively. He could, in theory, send one of the many hunters in the area right up the Gas-n-Sip front door.

But he has not.

Disappointment is a stone in his stomach, but it disappears at Castiel’s next thought – all those weeks ago, on the llchester beach, Dean let Castiel go. Dean offered his protection, Castiel declined, and Dean accepted it. Castiel has replayed their farewell in his head many times since then, but he’d missed the obvious: Dean respected him enough to let him go without argument. And goodness knows that Dean is a man who can argue to the ends of the Earth.

Which means that Dean is still letting Castiel decide on his next move. Dean has issued an invitation, but it’s up to Castiel to accept or not. Dean wants Castiel to choose him.

Unless, of course, Castiel is being an idiot again and is completely wrong about everything.

“Last night Dean said, ‘it’s guns and wolves all the way’,” Castiel says. “Guns are always in hunter badges. I think he’s describing a House or compound.”

“Like a safehouse. Wait, that actually sounds familiar. Wolves, you said? Plural?” Anna rushes from the room, leaving Castiel to down the rest of his coffee in bemusement. When Anna returns, she’s carrying one of her maps of the surrounding counties, which she then spreads over the table. She points at one of the shields. “Like that? A pack?”

Castiel looks at where Anna is pointing. Sure enough, that is a hunter’s shield with wolves in the lower half and two guns criss-crossed at the top. His stomach flips further when he sees the location of the estate – ‘Turner’, the map reads. It’s northeast of Rexford, down the mountains, and half a day’s drive away.

Castiel has to ask. “Would it be too dangerous?”

“If you’d asked me a few weeks ago, I’d say yes. But it’s different than what I expected out there. I went further north with Sam – all the way here, to the train station.” Anna taps the map with her fingers, showing the route. “It’s chaos. Easy to disappear into. We could go as far as we’re comfortable, and turn back if necessary.”

“We could take a look,” Castiel says. “You know, just… scout the place.”

Anna inclines her head. “Sure, we could do that.”

* * *

They don’t go immediately, of course. Castiel needs to investigate the Turner estate and the close town of East Canaan. The area is one of the main checkpoints along a major highway, so it should be flooded with refugees moving westward away from the conflict. The owner of the estate, one Rufus Turner, is indeed a hunter, and there’s various documentation in the Rexford library that shows a close alliance with the Singer and Mills Houses. Anna does her own research – one of her contacts lives in that town, which means they may have a place to hide if things go badly.

It’s certainly couldn’t hurt that much just to have a _look_. It’d be just another short car trip out of town, where they get to observe the situation as it is closer to the highways. It would be far more educational than watching it on TV or listening about it on the radio.

Thinking about all of this makes Castiel understandably distracted at work. Nora points it out, more to tease than to reprimand, and after all the restless rattling of doubts in his head, Castiel just goes for it.

“I think I know where my husband is,” he says. “I… obtained some information. I don’t know how accurate it is, but he might be less than a day’s drive away from here.”

“Oh, wow!” Nora’s hand flies to over her heart. “That _is_ news! How are you – is it beyond the Line?”

“No, it’s in the other direction, away from the fighting. There’s a safehouse, I think he might be there. I know I just took some time off—”

“Steve, you have taken more than your fair share of extra shifts since you got here.” Nora’s smile is bright, and her open delight at the news loosens some of the tension in Castiel’s body. It cannot be an entirely bad idea. “When are you going? Do you need help getting there?”

Castiel tells her about his tentative plans with Anna to go on the coming Friday, and Nora immediately starts fretting over him, suggesting supplies they should bring, safety procedures they could take into account, et cetera.

“Are you going to see him like this?” Nora asks.

“What are you referring…? Oh. _Oh_.” Castiel brushes his fingers over his beard. He’s been a little remiss on maintenance lately, and the edges of his beard are curling unevenly. “Yes, I see. I hadn’t thought of that. Thank you.”

Nora’s support gives Castiel that final burst of energy. He will go, he decides. He has Anna to watch his back, and they will have an exit plan in place in case anything goes wrong. Castiel doesn’t even need to decide if he wants to see Dean yet or not – that will depend on their conclusions once they see the Turner estate for themselves.

Once the decision is made and Anna is informed, time passes by in an indistinct blur. There are still days at the Gas-n-Sip and nights working Anna’s messages, but it’s all just… noise. Planning for the trip is easy as well – Anna’s better at planning, so Castiel leaves it to her to decide on the route to take. Castiel’s only role is to pack his things for a day trip and be calm. Castiel can do calm.

Then there’s the fact that every night Dean’s still there on the radio, but now he closes off his transmission with variations of, “ _Good night y’all. And you, too, Emmanuel._ ”

* * *

“What did you _do_?” Anna hisses.

Castiel stands up straight and does not fidget. He is grateful to his sister for the great many things she’s done for him, but he will not be cowed today. Not when his mind is still filled with the white noise of anxiousness, and they are by Anna’s own estimate a bare hour away from the Turner estate. It is almost two o’clock in the afternoon, they are in a diner for lunch, and Castiel is just now returning from an extended sojourn in the men’s room.

“I shaved,” Castiel says. He sits back down in his side of the booth, toiletry bag in his lap, and scowls when Anna throws a sugar packet at his chest. “What is that for?”

“I was about to send the cavalry, you were in there so long,” Anna grumbles. “And you had such a lovely beard.”

“I want Dean to recognise me,” Castiel says defiantly. His face feels strange to be so close-shaven, but his five o’clock shadow will be showing up in a few hours. “I still have my glasses, and I’ll keep the same precautions.”

“It took you months to grow that out.”

“I’m sure you can manage one of your own if you put your mind to it.”

Anna grins and shakes her head. “You’re a riot, you know that?”

Castiel laughs. He is nervous, but he’s been nervous almost continuously for a few days now, so he can mostly ignore it. Anna being by his side helps a lot, as does the sheer volume of people in this area. Anna wasn’t exaggerating – it is a practical flood of people. This isn’t like Rexford, which is in a bubble, or Rawlinshire, which merely feels like a town that has had an influx of tourists.

The journey Castiel and Anna have made has brought them into highway towns that have been peeled open like fruit. There are makeshift houses and campsites at every available space. Shops, libraries and schools have thrown their doors wide open for refugees, volunteers and health care personnel weaving through them like bees. This very diner they’re in has a sign on the door declaring that their bathroom is available for anyone to use, and they accept barter trade for food.

This is the Republic taking care of their own, and it’s quite humbling.

Anna’s seen all of this already, so Castiel doesn’t mind being the only one to gape at the scenery. That said, Castiel does not expect for Anna to completely lose it when they finally arrive at the Turner estate.

“It’s a commune!” Anna gasps. “That’s – that’s a refugee center!”

Castiel pokes her arm. “Anna, please put the brakes on.”

“Oh, yes. Right.”

The Turner estate is just up the road from the East Canaan town, and unlike most of the fortress houses that Castiel’s familiar with, this one appears to be a small town in itself. There’s a half-dozen interconnecting buildings of various sizes and styles set in a vague U shape, as though there was a huge argument some time in the family’s distant past and everyone decided to build their own dwellings to their personal specifications. There is no fence, which is unusual in itself, though Castiel can see the remains of an ancient wall at one of the corners.

Just like the town they’ve passed through, it is crowded yet there’s also a sense of organized chaos. There are people everywhere, in various states of purpose and energy – barely anyone gives Anna’s car a second glance. The vehicle behind them honks, so Anna moves further up the estate’s main road, following the vehicle in front of them to the open field beyond. Here there are cars, trucks, vans – many of them repurposed into temporary homes.

Anna parks the car at an empty spot, turns off the engine, and exhales. “Oh my god. Did you see the signage at the refugee center?”

Castiel might have been more focused on trying to find a man six feet two inches tall, brown hair, and likely wearing a green or brown jacket. He shakes his head.

“Our flag was on it,” Anna says. “Well, at the corner. That’s a declaration that it’s a safehouse for _northerners_. It’s all true! Let’s go take a look.”

So where Castiel had thought that he would have to be threatened or sweet-talked into leaving the car, he finds himself being dragged along by his overexcited sister into the pandemonium of the estate. They blend easily into the crowd – there are so many clothes styles, so many accents, so many people of different backgrounds. Castiel can’t help feeling self-conscious, though, and pulls his hoodie down over his face as much as he can.

The refugee center is one of the smaller buildings at the front of the estate. Sure enough, Anna was correct – the sign draped over the large double doors has the kingdom’s flag etched at one corner. Northerners are welcome. Closer still, Castiel can hear people inside talking with the more formal Isles accent, and it’s familiar and disorienting at the same time.

“Hey, that’s Hannah!” Anna exclaims. “Hannah, Hannah!”

Castiel knows he should be more interested in this. These are his people. He wants to help them, commiserate with them, ask them how they’re managing. But he’s also aware that there’s a possibility that Dean’s somewhere on these grounds, and that he could at any moment appear just around the corner.

Anna is already making herself comfortable in the center’s communal room, introducing herself and excitedly exchanging hugs with her contact. Castiel hovers by the door, awkward and on high alert. There are quite a few hunters going around – distinct in their fatigues – but they all look so busy. And none of them are Dean.

There’s a hunter right there, just a few yards away in the courtyard. She’s reading from a clipboard, and her mouth is moving though she doesn’t seem to be talking to anyone. She has red hair, though, which Castiel’s feverish mind decides to take as a sign.

It can’t hurt to ask, right?

Castiel moves before he can second-guess himself. It’s just a handful of yards forward, and then saying a quick, “Hello. Can you help me?”

The hunter flashes him a quick, distracted smile, and goes back to reading her clipboard, but she doesn’t dismiss him. “Sure, what’s up?”

“I was wondering if there’s a Dean Winchester here,” Castiel says.

“Mm? Who’s asking?”

Okay, Castiel hadn’t planned this far ahead. He works his mouth uselessly, mind skipping between the various possible answers: friend, acquaintance, friend, none of your business, husband, friend—

“Oh,” the hunter says. She’s stopped looking at her clipboard and is now looking right at him, seemingly through the lowered hood and thick-rimmed glasses. “Oh my god. Oh my _god_.” Her hand clamps around Castiel’s forearm, making him jump. “Yes, Dean’s here. You want to see him, right? You heard him call you on the radio, right?”

“Uh,” Castiel says.

“He’s right back there!” she exclaims, pointing at one of the larger buildings behind them. “At least, last I checked, which was what, second breakfast, so I don’t know, he could’ve moved, but chances are extremely good that he’s still there somewhere. Come on!”

Castiel glances back at Anna who, to his surprise, just makes a gesture for him to proceed. She’ll wait right there for him, Castiel knows. This hunter seems to be quite passionate about getting him to follow her, and she doesn’t seem to be malicious?

Getting dragged along seems to be the theme of the day, so Castiel lets the hunter – whose name is Charlie, he learns in between her continuous babbling – pull him through the crowd, pass a doorway checkpoint where she just waves at the intimidating guy to let them pass, and into one of the estate’s main buildings.

“So it’s really hectic today,” Charlie’s saying, “that’s mostly ‘cause we’re getting the surplus from town. They’ve had to close the school ‘cause they’re – okay, long story, you don’t care. I hope it wasn’t tough getting here? The checkpoints are just crazy these days.”

“It was fine,” Castiel says. “Thank you.”

The ground floor appears to be a makeshift medical ward, with white stretchers and green dividers filling up the main hall and the rooms that branch off. Charlie bypasses that area for a narrow corridor and up a staircase to the first floor. There’s a long hallway here that leads off into various rooms – many of which contain beds and mattresses, and all of which are occupied.

Suddenly Charlie comes to a halt, and Castiel just stops himself from falling over. She turns to him, a hand lifted to cover her mouth as though sharing a secret, and whispers, “Ten o’clock.”

Castiel looks up.

The left wall of the hallway is lined with benches, many of which have been repurposed as tables, workstations and beds. The one Charlie is referring to is being used as a bed, because Dean is lying on it, curled up on one side with his jacket pulled up to his neck as a blanket.

Charlie pats Castiel’s arm. “There you go.” She fades away from his side, but Castiel barely notices.

It doesn’t matter how many times Castiel has thought about this moment – he is not prepared. He is also blocking the walkway, so he neatly steps out of the way to let people pass, and then starts approaching the bench.

Dean is fast asleep, facing the wall. He’s fully-dressed, though he’s at least taken his boots off, which are neatly tucked underneath the bench. Castiel hastily removes his glasses and creeps closer, one hesitant step after another, until he’s close enough to see the lines around Dean’s eyes, the stubble on his jaw. He is frowning a little. There is a line of dried drool on his chin. He is beautiful.

Okay, so what now? Does Castiel wait? He can wait. It’s no trouble to wait, because it means he gets to drink his fill of the sight of Dean. He’s whole and seems to be healthy, which is good. There are no obvious injuries, which is also good.

He is stirring awake.

Castiel freezes, mesmerized by the way Dean grunts softly, smacks his lips, and slowly opens his eyes. They’re crusty, a little red and unfocused at first. Castiel had almost forgotten that shade of green. Dean turns a little, squinting, and finally notices him.

“Ugh,” Dean grumbles. “Go away, Cas.” He rolls away, and back onto his side.

Castiel stares. Dean firmly closes his eyes.

Ah. All right, he wasn’t expecting that. He’s pretty sure he wasn’t expecting much at all – expecting is different from _hoping_ – so it’s somewhat disconcerting to still be disappointed. At least, he thinks he’s disappointed. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he doesn’t feel anything. There is just null space where an emotional reaction would be.

Castiel takes a step back and away from Dean. That’s the answer to that. He misunderstood everything – the message was never for him, Dean was talking about some other Emmanuel, it was all just a coincidence. This is good, though. Castiel wanted to know, and now he knows. Excellent.

He retraces his steps back down the hallway, through people he doesn’t know and doesn’t care about, to the stairs, then back to the ground floor. He gets a little turned around in the corridor, but as soon as he spots the exit Charlie’s right there at his side again, grabbing at his sleeve.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” Charlie asks. “Didn’t you see Dean?”

“This was a mistake,” Castiel says. “Thank you, I appreciate it, but I shouldn’t be here.”

“What, why?” Charlie says. “What—argh. Wait, don’t go, don’t go, please.”

Castiel shakes his head frantically. “I shouldn’t—”

“Please.” Charlie tightens her grip on his sleeve. “You look like you could use a drink. We have a commissary, have you seen it yet? It’s totally super. Come on, come let me show you!”

Castiel doesn’t know why he goes. Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t have any energy left to protest. It’s just easier to let Charlie drag him back down the corridor but in another direction, through another courtyard and into another low building.

“Hey, what’d I say?” Charlie says when they pass through the stone doorway into the high-ceiling room. “Neat, huh?”

“It’s a commissary,” Castiel agrees. The eating hall is not packed, but the lunch rush must have only just passed. There are long tables in the center, with benches on either side, and shorter tables near the walls. This must be an actual eating hall, instead of a converted one, because there’s a gash along one wall that looks into a large functioning kitchen.

“Let’s get some coffee, huh?” Charlie insists. “You won’t regret it, I swear.”

Actually, coffee sounds like a good idea. Castiel marches stiffly at Charlie’s side, following her to the long counter that must be where they dispense the food from the kitchen. Charlie calls out for coffee and the nearest cook wearing an apron turns to acknowledge the order.

Castiel starts. That’s Benny. Still wearing an apron, still cooking for the greater good. Benny double-takes at the sight of Castiel, and then exchanges a quick look with Charlie.

“Yep,” Charlie says. “You enjoy your coffee, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Fine. Coffee. Castiel stays at the counter but averts his face, uninterested in small talk. It had better be excellent coffee, is all that matters.

“How much?” Castiel asks, when Benny pushes a mug towards him.

“On the house,” Benny says.

Castiel scowls. “ _How much_?”

“Caffeine and water’s all subsidized, buddy.” Benny taps two fingers to his hat in an annoying salute, and then slinks back through the doorway into the kitchen proper. Castiel rolls his eyes.

There are a number of unoccupied tables in the commissary, so Castiel takes one of the tables near the wall, close to the door. All the better to be unnoticed and make a quick exit if necessary, et cetera.

Castiel glares at the mug of coffee. Why is he even here? This is so _stupid_. Everything is stupid. He is stupid. He could be doing useful things like checking Nora’s inventory right now. Instead he’s sitting here in this stupid place drinking stupid coffee. Castiel takes a careful sip, and concedes that the coffee is acceptable and marginally less stupid than everything else. Though that is not saying much.

Irritatingly, Benny is watching him. He’s trying not to be obvious, but Castiel can see it. Worse still, Castiel thinks that’s Bobby Singer sitting at one of the long tables, and he will definitely recognise Castiel if he turns this way. Which he has now. Well then. His cover is blown.

Unfortunately, Castiel’s flight mechanism is broken. What’s the point? So what if Bobby detains him all over again? It makes no difference. Anna would be upset, though.

Castiel sighs and stands up, still holding his coffee. He wonders how they stop people from stealing their cutlery here. Maybe they don’t. Maybe Castiel should flee the scene with a souvenir. Or he could just finish the rest of the coffee quickly and not add theft on top of his crimes against the nation.

It’s while Castiel is standing at his table like an idiot that there’s a sudden clatter of running feet approaching, followed by someone bodily running into the hall, sprinting past Castiel and deeper into the hall where they come to a sudden, shoe-screeching halt. Castiel shakes his head, irritation slowly turning into anger, when it registers that the person who just ran past him, and whose back is now to him, is Dean. Castiel would know that hair, those shoulders, that waist and those legs, absolutely anywhere.

Panic stills Castiel where he stands. Just like that, the heat of annoyance has become the ice of anxiety, and Castiel must declare that he is not enjoying this emotional rollercoaster at all and would like to get off now, please. Perhaps he can creep to the doorway without being seen.

Wait, no, too late. Dean’s turning, eyes wild and searching until they halt decisively on Castiel. It’s unfair, Castiel only has a cup of coffee as a shield. Though he might still be able to make the door if his legs can unlock themselves right this instant.

There’s a loud clatter that makes Castiel jump – Dean’s knocked over a chair in his determined approach towards Castiel, and though Dean mutters a quick, “Sorry”, his eyes are still locked on his target. Now Castiel truly does not have an escape at all, because Dean is standing right in front of him. He is awake and alert, and Castiel is still achingly glad to have those eyes on him once more.

“Hey,” Dean says.

“Hello,” Castiel manages.

“So you’re actually here,” Dean says, lightly, as though he’s being funny.

“Yes,” Castiel says.

“No, I mean like, you’re _really_ here and not just in my...” Dean shakes his head rapidly. “Why’re you here?”

The anger floods back. It is a wave, filling up all the hollowness inside Castiel, and it has him standing up straighter and meeting Dean’s gaze straight-on. “Why do you think?” Castiel snaps.

Instead of being perturbed by Castiel’s tone, Dean’s expression _softens_. “I’m not gonna assume, Cas.”

There’s nothing for it, then. “I’m here for _you_.”

It’s just four words but Castiel is winded upon saying it in front of Dean himself. Because that’s kind of humiliating, isn’t it? Castiel’s come all this way and braved non-specific threats in order to see one person, who is staring at Castiel as though – as though something. Yet Castiel doesn’t feel humiliated. He feels relieved, instead, because it’s true and truth is freeing, and no matter how angry he is right now he knows that he needed to do it, whatever the outcome.

Castiel shrugs helplessly. “I miss you.”

Dean lets out a small exhalation, not quite a sigh, and then looks down at the mug Castiel’s still holding. “Give me the coffee.”

“No,” Castiel says. “This is mine. Get your own.”

“I’m not gonna drink it, just give me the—” Dean grabs at the mug, prompting Castiel’s protest and then confusion when Dean carefully peels Castiel’s fingers off the mug and sets it aside on the table.

“I was—” Castiel starts to say, but then Dean’s hands are coming around Castiel’s face, sliding against his jaw and holding him in place for the kiss that follows.

Understandably, it takes Castiel a second or two to process that Dean is kissing him. This is not one of his daytime fantasies, because he has never imagined Dean’s kisses being like this – as quick and frantic as gasps against Castiel’s mouth, each one slightly different as though Dean cannot decide where best Castiel must be kissed. Then the rest of Castiel catches up – his heart included – to the fact that this is _Dean,_ who is warm and insistent and frantic in his holding on to Castiel, as though he is struggling to process this moment just like Castiel is.

Dean misses him back. Dean misses him _back_. Castiel’s knees decide they’d like to malfunction at this thought, but Dean is right there to catch him when he buckles, Dean’s hands dropping from Castiel’s hair to his arms without missing a beat.  Castiel parts his lips, breath catching when Dean’s mouth slots neatly against his, and then there’s nothing else to do but grab the back of Dean’s shirt and hold on.

Joy rises into the place where the anger had been. It’s too much, Castiel cannot contain it, his body is shaking and there’s a sob rising up in his throat. It’s all made worse when Dean looses a low, anguished growl against Castiel’s mouth and whispers, “You son of a bitch.” Dean’s shaking as well.

Dean’s lips find Castiel’s cheek, the side of his nose, his jaw, and then Dean’s clutching Castiel tight against him. It’s the greatest hug in the world, not least because Dean has his face ducked against Castiel’s neck and is breathing as though his lungs are about to collapse.

“You’re okay,” Dean says, his voice very faint. “Thank you. _Thank you_.”

Castiel digs his fingers into the back of Dean’s shirt and holds on. Dean is still making these awful child-like noises of frustration, as though merely swearing isn’t enough to express himself. Castiel closes his eyes and offers his own prayer of gratitude, relieved and exhausted and happy beyond measure.


End file.
